


Flying

by beetle



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodhi acquires a freak-flag, Bottom Bodhi Rook, DefectorPilot, Engagement, Engineering Student Bodhi Rook, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, First Time, Galen is flies his freak-flag, K2S0's love is pure and unrequited, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage, Meet the Family, Meet-Cute, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Galen Erso/Orson Krennic, POV Bodhi Rook, Pre-Law Jyn, Professor Galen Erso, Professor Orson Krennic, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, Retired Navy SEAL Cassian, Rough Sex, Slow-ish burn, Top Galen Erso, Virgin Bodhi Rook, Widower Galen, elopement, sciencepilot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 04:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 86,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9419762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt afractionof that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’twant to. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.





	1. Fast Times in Jedha, NM

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotot/gifts), [TheAmazingBlue_J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAmazingBlue_J/gifts), [hoxadrine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoxadrine/gifts).



> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. Any additional warnings will be added as the story goes and in tags.
> 
> Thanks to my cheerleaders in this endeavor, Bunfork, Hoxadrine and TheAmazingBlue_J! Check out their Works and leave loads of comments and kudos!

* * *

 

 

**“The secret of flight is this—you have to do it immediately, before your body realizes it is defying the laws.”**

**Michael Cunningham, _A Home at the End of the World_**

 

After watching his best friends be utterly absorbed by each other for, like, _ever_ —to the point that even _he_ , their best-man, felt like he was intruding, though he’d long since thought himself inured to their . . . eye-fucking or soul-gazing, or whatever it was they did when they gazed into each other’s eyes like that—Bodhi A. Rook made a rude noise around his mouthful of cookie and said: “Oh, _c’mon_ , you two! I’m tryin’a eat my freakin’ _Madeleines_!” He shook the small packet of cookies meaningfully.

 

No response. Unless one considered completely ignoring Bodhi a valid response.

 

 _Bodhi_ sure didn’t.

 

So, after once more watching his best friends stare deeply, intently into each other’s eyes without speaking for, like, _ever plus five minutes_ , Bodhi had had _quite_ enough, please and thank you, and he was obliged to say something scathing about it. Once he finished his current cookie, that was.

 

“You two are the _grossest_ pair of douche-canoes in New Mexico. And that’s _saying something_ ,” he added after a pause to sip his extra-fat, extra-caf, whip-topped, mochachino. _God_ , but he loved chocolate in all its many splendid forms. “Definitely puts you in the running for grossest douche-canoes on _Earth_.”

 

“Shut up, Bodhi,” they both said, at the same time, and Bodhi rolled his eyes, noting that _they_ hadn’t stopped staring into each other’s to give their rude, absent replies.

 

“Aaaaaaaaand now, you’re doing the identical-twins-speaking-at-the-same-time-thing, again. Can I just say _ew_? Mostly because the twin-thing is _uber_ -creepy considering all the sex I hear you guys having in the bedroom _right next to mine_?” Snorting, Bodhi crunched down on another _Madeleine_ , angry-chewing the poor, defenseless confection with real asperity. “Seriously, I can’t _wait_ till you two’re married and back from your honeymoon in a few weeks. After the honeymoon, married people _never_ bone. Or so I’ve been told.”

 

Without looking away from Jyn, Cassian balled up a Starbucks napkin—which _Bodhi_ had been selfless enough to go get, along with the beverages and assorted munchables, since Jyn was too busy being a douche-canoe with her douche-canoe fiancé—and shied it at Bodhi’s head, like a small stone at a complaining crow. Bodhi dodged it, but still got hit dead-center in the forehead.

 

“Fuck, how the hell do you _do_ that, Andor? I freakin’ _ducked_!” Bodhi was, indeed, complaining. As he had _frequently_ since meeting his roommate and best friend’s compact, quiet, but somehow _scary_ ex-military boyfriend. Even now, all Bodhi knew about the kindly, easy-going, but mysterious _Cassian D. Andor’s_ past, was that the man had been a Navy SEAL for over ten years before retiring and moving to Jedha City, New Mexico, eighteen months ago. Where he’d met pre-law student Jyn after she was fresh out of jail for disorderly conduct during a protest march.

 

Bodhi—himself studying to design navigation systems for various aerospace technologies—had been surprised by the speed and depth of the bond that’d formed between the equally reserved and rather hard-nosed couple. Especially considering that, if anything, Cassian was even _more_ reserved and hard-nosed than Jyn by a country-mile, but Jyn was by far more stubborn and bloody-minded. Yet when the pair were together, though it wasn’t easily spotted by others, they had this strange way of opening-up like flowers toward the sun the other represented. And that opening-up created a hermetic bubble around them that no one else was able to inhabit, or even penetrate, so to speak.

 

Bodhi both marveled at it and resented it.

 

To his way of thinking, that sort of exclusionary affection was just plain _jerkish_ in mixed company. He, himself, would _never_ be _that_ involved with someone, to the point that others felt uncomfortable, intrusive, and left-out in the presence of he and his paramour.

 

Not that Bodhi currently _had_ a paramour. Or had _ever_ really had one.

 

At the ripe old age of twenty-two, Bodhi Ahmed Rook had barely dated, let alone had a relationship. And having only, at the age of nineteen, grown out of the scrawniness and shortness that’d plagued him during his teen years and caused intense body-shyness, he wasn’t used to thinking of himself as even remotely attractive to others. Not in a sexual way, at least. (Though he’d put on some muscle since his final growth spurt—he was an even six feet tall, one hundred sixty-eight pounds, all of it lean, whipcord muscle and long, solid bones—he wasn’t and likely would never be muscular in the way, say, Jyn’s occasional lovers before Cassian Andor had tended to be.)

 

And though Cassian, himself, wasn’t much to look at, size-wise, he was ridiculously strong and fast, like a cross between a Huntsman spider and a ninja. His shapeless, loose clothes hid a body that was all coiled, ready, SEAL-muscle. He could and _had_ benched Bodhi more than once when the pair of them had gotten into good-natured wrestling matches after evenings spent getting piss-drunk off Cassian’s expensive rum. Evenings when Bodhi was too fried to study anymore, Cassian was clearly bored and lonely, and Jyn was working late at her internship—her boss, Saw Gerrera, was a task-master, but one who walked the walk, as well as talked the talk, when it came to the non-profit organization he ran—at _Alliance_ headquarters.

 

Now, Cassian finally spared Bodhi an amused, somehow smug, dark-eyed glance, which was quickly joined by Jyn’s amused, somehow smug, hazel-grey gaze. After thirteen months of living practically in each other’s back pockets, they even had the same _facial expressions_. It was eerie, and Bodhi vowed to himself, yet again, to _never_ get that intertwined with _anyone_.

 

 _Ever_.

 

“Let’s just say a good aim and steady arm are parts of my skill-set, and leave it at that, eh?” Cassian suggested in his smoky, Antonio Banderas-voice and accent. And Jyn did that adorable little snerk-thing she did where her eyes crinkled and her lips twitched at the corners, but didn’t quite curve in a smile.

 

None of her previous lovers had managed to illicit such an oddly innocent and girlish expression from pragmatic, practical, worldly _Jyn Erso_. Bodhi half-thought Cassian was a warlock or something.

 

“Well, whatever,” he dismissed, plucking the napkin out of his lap and tossing it back at Cassian underhanded. The crumpled projectile didn’t even make it halfway across the relatively short distance, landing on the heavy, baroque coffee table between the sofa and loveseat, before rolling to the floor near Jyn’s foot. Bodhi sighed. He’d never had _any_ game. At love or sports. (Unless one counted making and flying paper and model airplanes.

 

 _Bodhi_ sure didn’t.)

 

Aaaaaaaaand Jyn and Cassian were back to fucking each other’s souls, or whatever.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Bodhi went on pointedly, leaning back into the sofa and looking away from the loveseat where his friends were once more excluding him. It was time and past to make tracks to his room and work on his final project for Professor Krennic. “You two’re gross. So, I’m gonna go burn down an orphanage and smoke an entire meth-lab. Don’t wait up.”

 

“That’s nice, Bodhi,” Jyn sighed, actually sparing a glance and a smile for him for all of point-five seconds. One that came back to rest on him again as he stood and hitched up his baggy, tan cargo shorts. “Oh, and can you do me a favor?”

 

Pausing in the act of skirting the coffee table and loveseat to head to his own, romance-free space, with his precious mochachino and half-finished pack of _Madeleines_ , Bodhi frowned. “Depends on the favor. It’s not like that time you asked me to pick your crazy-ass boss up from Roswell International and drive him back to Jedha, is it? I mean, I told you he tried to give me a lobotomy with his Bowie-knife and _Mag-Lite_ , right? Because he thought I was some kinda spy, or something, right?” He shuddered, thinking of the crazy—but strong and determined—old guy. And his old, but strong and determined _knife_.

 

Jyn rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “ _Yes_ , you told me, Bodhi, but this’s _nothing_ like _that_ favor.”

 

“Oh. Well, good. What can the bestest of best men do for the future Mrs. Erso-Andor?”

 

Jyn grinned her usual charming, but shit-eating grin. The one that other guys— _straight_ guys—who _weren’t_ Bodhi Rook probably found sweet and girl-next-door-ish, but that Bodhi, himself, just found troubling and slightly smarmy. “You know how the elopement is only eight days away, right? Well, my father's flying in from Olympia for it, as you know, and I was going to pick him up, but Saw needs me with him at a meeting around the time his flight arrives. Soooo . . . I need _someone else_ to pick my him up from _Las Cruces International_. And, erm, drive him back to the Jedha _Ramada_ downtown.” Jyn’s eyebrows shot up hopefully and her smile became all kinds of winning and bright.

 

Bodhi could only gape in utter disbelief while Jyn . . . blushed, but maintained the infernal, cranked-up smile. “Really, it’ll be easy as pie, bestest of best men! Dads is the sweetest, most affable man on the planet—great on long drives, and—”

 

“That’s what you said about _Old Man-Lobotomy_ last fall, Jyn! And did I _mention_ the part about him nearly _lobotomizing me_ while I’m driving him here from the airport?” Bodhi demanded, transferring the _Madeleines_ from his left hand to his right so he could push his longer-than-shoulder-length, dark hair back from his temple as he tilted his head back a bit. Then he jabbed his index finger at a spot just beyond his hairline. “See? He even left a mark with that fucking knife of his!”

 

“Oh, Bodhi, don’t be petty,” Jyn admonished, snorting a little and chuckling. Cassian joined her. Bodhi all but growled and raked his hand back through his perpetually messy hair. It immediately flopped back forward. “Saw was only trying to, er. . . .”

 

“To what? _Scalp me_?!” Bodhi almost screeched, and Cassian snickered, but turned it into a cough when Bodhi glowered at him. The other man’s dark eyes were still twinkling with suspicious mirth, however. “He coulda killed us both!”

 

“Don’t be so _melodramatic_! There isn’t even a scar!”

 

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ I don’t have a freaking _scar_ to prove what your _psychotic_ mentor tried to do to me while I was behind the wheel of your three-ton, moving Death-Star—which, also? Is a really _unfunny_ name for a bone-white Charger, Jyn!”

 

“Don’t you _dare_ disparage Mummy’s little Star! She’s a _very_ sensitive automobile,” Jyn said primly, settling against Cassian, who instantly put his arm around her slim shoulders. Bodhi rolled his eyes. “Anyway, you want me to name her _Rogue One_ , like you did your crappy, old VW bus?”

 

“Dude. _Low blow_ , going after the Rogue-ster. She’s a grand ol’ dame, and classier than the Death-Star will _ever_ be, Erso. And just for saying otherwise, your Dad can _walk_ from _Las Cruces_ ,” Bodhi said loftily, but unconvincingly, if Jyn’s incredulous snort was anything to go by. “I’m serious, Jyn. He can walk till his feet fall off.”

 

Jyn gave him The Pout _and_ The Puppy-Eyes, and Bodhi didn’t so much as crack. Not even a _little_.

 

Mostly because he’d _already_ cracked, and decided he’d do it. After all: what else were bestest best men for?

 

But he _still_ had a front to present, though. It wouldn’t do to make it _too_ easy for Jyn. Then she’d _always_ expect to get her precious way. “Anyway, I’m busy. Can’t do it.”

 

“You don’t even know what day or time his flight arrives.” Jyn crossed her arms and gave him her best attorney stare-down. Bodhi flinched.

 

“I—fuck.” He groaned. This time, Cassian wasn’t even trying to hide his snickers. “Fine. When _does_ his flight arrive? With my schedule, I probably really _will_ be too busy to do it, y’know? Final project due date’s not too far off and Professor Krennic loves nothing more than tearing apart his students’ work. I think he gets off on it.”

 

Jyn’s look turned commiserating for a few moments at Bodhi’s rueful tone. She’d had her own tough professor in Dr. Mothma, only from what Bodhi had heard, Mothma was _exacting_ , but not actually an asshole. She was hard on her students because she wanted them to have high standards for success. _Krennic_ was a whole different story. And an unavoidable one, in Bodhi’s major. “Look, his flight arrives on Tuesday, at 11:37 a.m. Right after your one class of the day ends.” Jyn’s eyebrows shot up in silent plea. Bodhi sighed and scrambled for any excuse. Any at all.

 

“What about my internship?”

 

“Since when do you have an internship?” Jyn demanded crossly. Bodhi flushed.

 

“Well, _maybe_ I’d have an internship if I wasn’t always running errands for _you!_ Didja ever think about _that_ , Erso?”

 

“Oh, don’t _be_ like this, Bodhi. Dads had to move lots of things around and call in plenty of favors to get time off from the university. And on such short notice. It’s important to him to see his little girl get married, even if it’s not a big, fancy wedding and reception. Please?”

 

“ _Jynnnnnn_. . . .” Bodhi’s capitulation was already a given, and they both knew it.

 

“Listen, you can take Star again, since Rogue’d die five miles outside of Jedha, with the way she overheats. You take Star to Las Cruces and I’ll drive Rogue to work. It’ll be a more than fair trade: your clunker for my precious, beautiful—”

 

“Gas guzzler?”

 

“I’ll reimburse you for the gas,” Jyn haggled. “ _And_ give you my AmEx for all the _Jimmy John’s_ sandwiches you can eat when you get back.”

 

Bodhi pursed his lips. “I _do_ love me some _Jimmy John’s_. . . .”

 

“I know you do.” Jyn was clearly biting back a triumphant smirk. Bodhi huffed.

 

“But I _hate_ Las Cruces.”

 

“So does _everyone_. But you’re just going to the airport, not taking a sight-seeing tour of the place,” Jyn reasoned. At which point Bodhi heaved another weary sigh. He was out of excuses and, anyway, after all the stuff Jyn’d done for him—including floating both halves of the rent occasionally, paying for their shared utilities and groceries, more often than not and, once, changing Rogue’s oil in the middle of a heat-wave—he owed her.

 

And leaving Mr. Erso to his own devices in hot-ass, boring, dusty, _awful_ Las Cruces, to make his way to Jedha City was just . . . heartless.

 

“Okay! Fine! I’ll do it!” Bodhi grumped, spinning on his heels and stalking out of the living room, down the brief hall to his room. “But I’m _so_ gonna starve myself before going to _Jimmy John’s_. Prepare for a sizable dent in your available credit balance, Erso.”

 

Jyn whooped happily. “I’ll text you his photo and vice versa so you both know whom to look for at the Arrivals gate!” she called after him, just loud enough to be heard over Cassian’s low chuckles.

 

Bodhi’s reply was a firmly shut—not _quite_ slammed—door.

 

#

 

And that’s how Bodhi found himself at Las Cruces International Airport two days later, slouching near the Arrivals gate, hands shoved in the pockets of his camo-patterned cargo shorts, sun glasses perched firmly on his face, hair tied back in a thick ponytail. He was sweating lightly under his faded, old Acapulco shirt and black wife-beater, rocking back and forth, heel and toe, in his admittedly incongruous classic Doc Martens.

 

The flight, despite Bodhi’s grouchy suppositions, was almost exactly on time. He’d only been waiting at the gate for ten minutes past the ETA, when passengers began to spill from the plane, chattering and laughing.

 

 _Of course,_ he thought irritably, huffily, jiggling his leg and tapping his foot _, Mr. Erso’s gonna be the last one off the plane, so I’ll have to stand around even longer, waiting._

 

But Bodhi was wrong. He was lazily, hopelessly scanning faces when he spotted the one Jyn had shown him from her phone’s photo gallery, and his mouth fell open because . . . _wow_.

 

Just . . . wow.

 

Mr. Erso was debarking just behind the _first_ wave of passengers, himself alone, but for a few other stragglers coming ahead of the _second_ wave of passengers. He looked exactly like his picture—pale, square-jawed, sharp-featured, with the same intensely changeable eyes and coy, resting expression, as Jyn: pleasant and deceptively innocent, a slight curve playing about a mobile mouth made for such smiles—solemn and attractive, somewhat boyish, despite obviously being middle-aged. He wasn’t a whit more, or less attractive—which was still _very_ —than his slightly fuzzy picture had captured. And yet. . . .

 

And _yet_ , the moment Bodhi saw Mr. Erso’s face, which was also the moment that Mr. Erso’s hazel-grey eyes met Bodhi’s from across the small waiting area, Bodhi felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Surely, he _had_ to have been, even if by an invisible force, because what other explanation _was there_ for the way the air suddenly shoved its way out of him in a harsh rush?

 

And there was _absolutely_ no reason why getting said air back should’ve been so _difficult_. But as Mr. Erso smiled and nodded at Bodhi—approaching calmly, not in any hurry, immaculate in his grey business-casual wear, with his carry-all slung over one shoulder—Bodhi found he couldn’t quite get enough oxygen. He even began to feel a bit light-headed. . . .

 

A state that persisted until, after nearly a full, gobsmacked minute, during which the second wave of passengers broke around them like the Red Sea, Bodhi found himself gaping at the man from less than an arm’s-length away.

 

Mr. Erso was tall and solidly-built—with at least three inches and thirty pounds on Bodhi—his dark, grey-threaded hair was stylishly tousled and swept back from a high, clear brow. His eyes held Bodhi’s stunned gaze candidly, but not intimidatingly, and his slight smile widened into a full one that drew Bodhi’s poleaxed attention to the man’s generous mouth and curving lips once more.

 

For another near-minute, they simply stood staring, smiling and gaping at each other, respectively. Bodhi noted that Jyn’s father smelled like cool water and sandalwood . . . subtly masculine and incredibly . . .  _tempting_.

 

Very, very—

 

 _Nope_ , Bodhi told himself sternly . . . or tried to, anyway. _Not even gonna_ go _There. Gonna take a five-thousand-light-years_ detour _around_ There _. Even if he wasn’t Jyn’s freaking_ Dad _, he would still just be_ parsecs _out of my league._

 

But a minute later, Bodhi was still staring at Mr. Erso like a thirsting man at a cup of ice-water.

 

Finally, Mr. Erso chuckled, his gaze sweeping lightly, up and down Bodhi, before settling once more on Bodhi’s face. He held out his hand, hefting his carry-all higher on his right shoulder.

 

“Galen Erso,” he said in a low, gently-accented voice. “And you must be Bodhi Rook.”

 

“Must I be?” Bodhi asked, then turned a mortified and deep scarlet when Mr. Erso’s eyebrows lifted a little in amusement that was entirely too Jyn-like. He twitched an arm out to take Mr. Erso's hand, shook it quickly, limply, noting the man's dry, callused grip before letting go and shoving his hand back in his pocket where it jingled grubby change and old gum-wrappers. “I mean, _I must be!_ Sorry, um. I’m Bodhi, yes. Here to take you to Jedha and Jyn. Welcome to New Mexico! Uh. Baggage Claim’s this way, Mr. Erso.”

 

But neither of them moved or even looked in the direction Bodhi had nodded in. They merely stared at each other, still smiling and gaping. At least until Mr. Erso finally glanced down, seemingly at Bodhi’s ironically large belt buckle, and that smile widened even more.

 

Apparently, Bodhi wasn’t the only _Danger Mouse_ -fan in Jyn’s life.

 

“Please . . . call me Galen. Mr. Erso was my grandfather.”

 

Bodhi blinked. Then blushed even deeper, for some reason, but resisted the urge to adjust his hipster-ish belt buckle or check his fly. “Um. Okay, uh . . . _Galen_.”

 

At the sound of his name, Mr.— _Galen_ was the one to blink, his amused expression faltering into something curious and a bit startled. Then he tilted his head and looked Bodhi over again, with such alacrity, Bodhi immediately straightened and belatedly pulled off his shades, folding them and placing them in the right breast pocket of his Acapulco shirt.

 

This time, when Galen’s eyes reached his face once more, their eyes _truly_ met and Galen’s widened, that smile disappearing completely. So, _Bodhi_ smiled a little uncertainly, further reddening—probably enough that it actually _showed_ , even on _his_ complexion—and half-turned toward Baggage Claim. “It’s, uh, this way, sir.”

 

Galen nodded, but didn’t correct him again. Instead, he swept out an arm to indicate that Bodhi should go first.

 

So, Bodhi did, turning jerkily away and scurrying through the clutches and groups of people, quick steps taking him past windows, through splashes of arid sunlight and patches of velvety shadow. Galen followed after: a silent, but almost grave presence, attentive and somehow curious.

 

By the time they got to Baggage Claim, an increasingly anxious and tongue-tied Bodhi had all but sweated through his wife-beater and was working on his Acapulco shirt. He could feel that gaze on his back like a searchlight. Like the warmth of a hearth. And though the temperature of the airport, even with the blasting A/C, was still _very_ warm, the heat of Galen’s gaze wasn’t unpleasant.

 

It was, in fact, almost _exhilarating_ , despite the now-clammy cling of Bodhi’s shirts.

 

“There’s one of mine,” Galen noted when they’d been at the carousel of suitcases for a good ten seconds. Before the older man could reach for the modestly-sized, wheeled, grey Samsonite indicated, Bodhi was snatching it up, determined to be gallant and chivalrous. To be more impressive and memorable than just being _Jyn’s chauffeuring roommate_ would warrant.

 

“And those, too” Galen added a few seconds later, stepping past Bodhi and quickly, easily picking up two larger grey suitcases, as if they weighed nothing. Then he turned to Bodhi, smiling, and once more nodded in the direction they’d been heading. “Lead the way, Bodhi.”

 

Shivering at the sound of _his own_ name in _that_ voice and on those _lips_ , Bodhi grinned nervously, then hurriedly edged past an elderly Chicano couple arguing in heated Spanish about whether they were at the right baggage carousel. They made their steady way to the exit, Galen on Bodhi’s heels once more: a piercing, powerful presence that still smelled of sandalwood and fresh water.

 

As they finally stepped out of Las Cruces International Airport, into light and _heat_ , Bodhi had time to reflect in-depth that, in their three years of friendship/roommate-ship, he’d _never_ hated Jyn Erso more than he’d quite suddenly grown to. . . .

 

 _Out of my freaking league and_ off-limits, he reminded himself with a surprisingly deep streak of bitterness, hunching his shoulders up practically to his dumb, stick-out ears. _He’s Jyn’s dad, he lives a thousand miles away, and he’s a world-renowned engineer and professor. I have no chance and no hope._

 

_Story of my life._

 

Glaring down at his Docs, Bodhi led Galen Erso to the temporary parking lot, and the waiting Death-Star in loaded, almost resentful silence.

 

TBC


	2. Throwing Yourself at the Ground . . . and Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting.

**“The Guide says there is an art to flying," said Ford, "or rather a knack. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.”** **  
―** **Douglas Adams** **, “** **Life, the Universe and Everything”**

 

“So,” Galen Erso said pleasantly, quietly, from his relaxed sprawl in the passenger seat of his daughter’s Charger. “Bodhi.”

 

At the wheel of Death-Star, Bodhi drove with grit-toothed, squint-eyed focus, hunched forward and glaring at the blacktop that stretched and ribbonned ahead of them.

 

“Jyn tells me you’re an engineer, as well.”

 

Eyes nearly shut, now, teeth firmly embedded in his bottom lip, Bodhi nodded once, slowly, like an unusually ponderous and intense Dunking Albert. “Yes, sir. Um, Galen? Sir.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Bodhi could see Galen, who really was _the most_ attractive man Bodhi had ever seen in person—and he still smelled _amazing_ , unlike Bodhi, who probably smelled sweaty, and like salami and pesto sauce because that was just how he rolled for breakfast, some days—nod, too, and smile a bit wider. “Well. I’m not an engineer, _yet_. Still got a, uh, few years before I’ve fully earned the title,” Bodhi added, kicking himself even as he said it. After all, if Galen chose to consider him a colleague, rather than a mere apprentice, who was _Bodhi_ to gainsay him?

 

Galen chuckled. “When it comes to education, being an engineer isn’t something one necessarily earns, I’ve found. At least not through much other than endless curiosity and sheer stick-to-it-iveness about how to make things work. For an engineer-born, the education is just scientific method and streamlining.”

 

Bodhi grunted. “Dunno about all _that_ , but I’m good at taking things apart and putting them back together better than I found ‘em,” he allowed. “‘M good at the hands-on stuff. Programming and soldering. But theory? Not so much. I guess I’m not much of an engineer-born.”

 

For the next half-mile, Bodhi could feel Galen’s considering gaze on him like an almost tangible spotlight. A gentle one, if such a thing could be said to exist.

 

“What area of engineering are you pursuing?” the other man finally asked as a souped-up Buick LeSabre blew past them, spotless rims throwing off random sunlight, mariachi music blaring over the sounds of laughter. Bodhi huffed and muttered about drunken kids in the middle of the damn day as Galen chuckled again. “I love Jyn, but she’s horrible with details like that. To her, engineering’s all one thing: _building stuff_.”

 

Almost smiling—Jyn had described Bodhi’s major that way _exactly_ , and more than once—Bodhi risked a glance at Galen. Now, the older man was staring out the passenger-side window at the rolling, monotonous desert majesty.

 

“SatNav design and programming.”

 

This earned him the gentle light of Galen’s undivided attention and steady gaze, once more. Bodhi flushed and looked back at the road ahead when he realized he’d been staring into Galen’s lucent eyes for nearly half a minute. That breathless-feeling from the airport was back with a vengeance.

 

 _Lucky I didn’t run us off the road in Jyn’s precious baby,_ he castigated himself, still flushed and sweating once more, despite the cranked-up A/C.

 

“Ah . . . I’ve known several names in the SatNav field— _before_ they were names, I might add. A few of them even settled out in the New Mexico and Texas area, for obvious reasons. Almost all of them have worked on SBAS and GLONASS, at one point or another,” Galen added, the near-physical weight of his gaze lifting for a few moments as he eyed a phalanx of Choppers illegally passing Death-Star in the wrong lane . . . some motorcycle club or other, clearly in a hurry if they were out-pacing _Bodhi_ who, though an excellent driver, tended to have a lead foot. “Have you heard of Arthur de Tuyll?”

 

Bodhi nodded, smiling. “Heard of him, read his books. He seems pretty cool.”

 

“Oh, he is. We went to school together. I’m not surprised he’s written so many books. He _never_ shut up. Threw . . . interesting parties at interesting hours . . . in interesting places.”

 

Bodhi goggled at the road ahead, then at Galen. Then back at the road when Galen’s lips twitched in a proto-smirk. “You . . . _he_ . . . parties? You guys . . . _partied_?”

 

“Oh . . . quite hearty, actually,” Galen confirmed with a perfectly composed voice and demeanor, tugging lightly on his seatbelt as if testing the give. “Art was a bit of a wild man, and that was saying something, back in the days when nearly half the engineering department was on hallucinogens and nearly half was on uppers. With no few cases of overlap.”

 

Both amused and appalled, Bodhi risked another look at Galen. The man was smiling wistfully at the way before them and Bodhi couldn’t help but smile, too. “And, uh. Which half did _you_ sort into? Or were you in the overlap?”

 

At this, Galen actually _laughed_ , long, low, and loud. “Oh, but that would be _telling_ , Mr. Rook. And I _did_ qualify that generalization with a couple of _nearlys_ , let me remind you”

 

“Ah.” Bodhi found himself chuckling, this time, trying to imagine Jyn’s precious _Dads_ , tripping balls or in a coke-fueled rage. Or a coke-fueled orgy. . . .

 

His smile turned a bit anxious and he blushed, pushing that last thought from his mind with ruthless speed, just as Galen went on.

 

“And Art and I are still fairly close. His husband, Charles, would track me down and very politely _murder me to death_ if I resurrected those old stories to even just one impressionable mind.” Galen snorted and Bodhi blushed deeper, recalling his thoughts of less than a minute prior.

 

“What, uh, makes you think I’m so impressionable?” he asked, and Galen snorted again, which only made Bodhi’s blush burn hotter. “I mean, I’m not . . . I’ve _partied_ ,” he sort of lied. “And I _can_ keep a secret.”

 

“So can I,” Galen informed him, suddenly grave and a bit melancholy. “In my day, it was telegraph, telephone, or tell an engineer, for all the _best_ gossip. But that was all a long time ago. We’re all different people, now: Art and Three-Pio—that’s what we used to call Charles, to his everlasting dismay—Krennic and Tarkin, Jyn’s mother and myself.”

 

For a few minutes, silence reigned in the much less than comfortable atmosphere of Death-Star. At least until Bodhi began connecting some dots, and recognized something that was possibly quite awful. “ _Krennic_? You don’t—you don’t mean Dr. _Orson_ Krennic, do you?”

 

Galen’s surprise was obvious, even with Bodhi’s eyes firmly on the road.

 

“You know of him?” Galen asked, then sighed before Bodhi could answer. “Of course, you do. He’s certainly a _name_ in SatNav circles . . . though he was more into weapons design, when I knew him.”

 

“Krennic designed _weapons_?!” Bodhi gaped over at Galen, who looked put-out. “I mean, he sometimes _hints_ that back before he was bird-dogged by _Empire Satellite Solutions_ , he’d been tapped for MI-5 or BI, or something British and top-secret. But I just assumed it was for top-secret satellite and navigations design, not . . . holy shit. . . !”

 

“Hints at?” Galen blinked over at Bodhi, seeming chagrined. “You’ve . . . met him?”

 

“ _Met_ him?” Bodhi was the one who snorted, this time. “Dude’s my _professor_ and head of my department. Probably gonna be my thesis advisor in grad school next year, too. Just my luck.” Blinking back at the road for just long enough to make certain he was still on it, Bodhi then frowned over at Galen, who was frowning right back. “Why? Is that . . . is that a problem?”

 

“Why would it be?” Galen asked with his own long, slow blink, his eyes gone hooded and wary.

 

“I dunno. You tell me?” Shrugging, Bodhi looked back through the front windshield. “It’s not like the guy’s my boyfriend or my _best_ friend. He’s just my professor. The best engineering professor at the school—maybe the best in the Southwestern United States—and the guy who’s got my future in his very neatly manicured hands. But personally, I think he’s a big—” cutting himself off, Bodhi slumped, remembering he was talking with the man’s contemporary.

 

“A big _what_?” Galen persisted intently, as if something important hinged on Bodhi’s answer. Bodhi blushed again and sighed miserably.

 

“Um. Honestly?” Off the slight nod he could just make out from the corner of his eye, he shrugged again, and decided to go with his gut. “I think he’s a fucking _genius_. And, also, the only person I’ve ever met who was both a prick _and_ an asshole simultaneously.”

 

Bodhi could almost hear the surprised blink that was immediately followed by that same long, low laugh. Surprised, himself, Bodhi glanced at Galen to see the man’s head tilted back as he guffawed, full-bodied and unrestrained.

 

“Oh,” he chuffed out, one big hand settled on the seatbelt where it crossed his abdomen. “Oh, my!”

 

“If I offended you, or cast aspersions on someone who may be a lifelong friend of yours,” Bodhi began quietly, only for Galen to laugh harder.

 

“The only problem I have with what you said was that the comparison was insulting to _both_ pricks and assholes,” he finally managed, turning a slightly teary gaze on Bodhi, his hazel-grey eyes seeming darker in the confines of Death-Star, but for a few random golden flecks. “Back when I knew him, one presumes even before the natural jadedness of age had set in, he was a narcissistic, vain, inconsiderate little showboat, who only cared about his pet projects and staying on Dean Palpatine’s good-side. If the man even had one. The only person worse than Krennic was Wilhuff Tarkin. And that, only because he was _older_ —older money, older name, older ideas and viewpoints—and had had more time to . . . congeal.” Another snort. “Neither of them got invited to Art’s parties. But Krennic would show up, anyway, saying he was someone’s date. Tarkin would just call the RAs or campus police to shut us down.”

 

Metabolizing this information, Bodhi finally shook his head. “And . . . did they?”

 

Galen smirked over at Bodhi. “All the RAs and half the campus police were partying _with_ us.”

 

After an incredulous gape, Bodhi started laughing, and Galen joined him, once more. The silence that fell a couple minutes later was comfortable and not strained.

 

“So,” Galen murmured again, his eyes twinkling when Bodhi glanced over at him. The older man held Bodhi’s gaze until a blush forced Bodhi to look away lest his face go up in almost _literal_ flames. “Tell me about this _Cassian Andor_ who wants to marry my daughter. . . .”

 

#

 

Forty-nine minutes later, most of the way to Jedha City, but taking a brief detour at a large rest-stop—which featured a _Pizza Hut and_ a _Cinnabon_ —Bodhi Rook leaned against the side of Death-Star, that marvel of retro-engineering, and bit into his cinnamon-blitzed pastry as he stared thoughtfully at the sky above.

 

A flock of some black birds—large ravens, or maybe small crows—wheeled overhead, obviously playing in the bright, midday sun. There had to be at least forty of them, darting and cavorting like mini-fighter jets or shifting pictograms, putting on a show to which not only Bodhi was bearing awed witness.

 

He’d mostly finished his cinnabon when his eyes began to water from staring up into the light and he blinked, tears running down his face and the after-image of the blue-white sky and yellow-white sun burnt temporarily onto his retinas. He swore and blinked rapidly, more tears falling, as after-images of the playful black birds were almost indelibly imprinted on his brain.

 

“ _Corvus frugilegus_ ,” Galen said suddenly from Bodhi’s right, and he started, blinking over at the apparently ninja-silent engineer. Said engineer, back from the restroom, was gazing up at the wheeling birds, as well. “Or the common rook. Usually not seen this far southwest. And more prevalent in England than the States. Odd that they’re in New Mexico, of all places in North America.”

 

Bodhi grinned without realizing he was going to, squinting a little at Galen and still trying to blink away the bright light and dark birds. “Why do you even _know_ that?”

 

Leaning against Death-Star, next to Bodhi, Galen shrugged and watched the birds swoop, and call: _rrrooook! Rrrooook!_ , as they did. “One picks these things up,” he said casually. Then, less casually, his smile gone bittersweet: “My wife . . . Lyra . . . she loved to bird-watch. If there was a bird she didn’t know by sight, it probably didn’t exist. At university, we used to spend Sundays on the quad studying and bird-watching—me doing more of the former, her more of the latter. But then, she was always smarter than me. A natural polymath,” he admitted fondly, admiringly, his eyes gone as melancholy as his smooth voice. Bodhi’s grin faded.

 

“I—I’m so sorry for your loss, Professor Erso,” he mumbled, looking down at the last of his cinnabon. Suddenly, he wasn’t so hungry. Maybe he’d break up and scatter the last couple of bites for those rooks. . . .

 

“It was a long time ago,” Galen said softly, adding: “And it’s just Galen, remember? Even my students don’t call me _Professor Erso_.”

 

Bodhi looked down to find Galen watching him, smiling, but without bitterness to leaven the open sweetness of it. Though the smile was replaced by a startled, worried look almost instantly. Galen reached up and after a moment of hesitation, during which Bodhi’s breath caught, brushed his thumb across Bodhi’s cheek.

 

“You’re crying,” Galen murmured a bit roughly, brows drawn together in a furrow. Flushing, Bodhi held perfectly still, not wanting Galen to stop running his thumb along the scruffy, tear-wet curve of his cheek. “I didn’t mean to—”

 

“Oh! N-no—it wasn’t—”

 

“I don’t talk about my wife very often—it tends to upset Jyn—so that just kind of . . . slipped out. I’m sor—”

 

“You didn’t upset me, Pro—Galen! I _wasn’t_ crying . . . my eyes were just watering from staring up at those damn birds! They can be pretty light-sensitive. My eyes, not the birds. Hence the expensive, prescription sunglasses, which I usually wear, like, _all the time_.” Bodhi manufactured a smile and a chuckle as Galen’s thumb, warm and dry, trailed across his jaw and away. “Especially when I’m gonna be looking at the sky for long.”

 

“Oh,” Galen said, and it was _his_ turn to blush, this time. “I see. I . . . didn’t mean to assume—”

 

“It’s okay!” Bodhi rushed to say, discomfited by this reversal of their roles: _himself_ being reassuring while _Galen_ was clearly anxious and fumbling. The other man's hand drifted away from Bodhi's face. “I mean, I think it _is_ sad about your w-wife . . . but my tears were mostly for the birds. So to speak.”

 

Galen’s chuckle was small—barely more than a throat-clearing—and he glanced up at the sky again too fast for Bodhi to read what was in those clear eyes. “The rooks’ve lost interest in this particular rest-stop.”

 

When Bodhi looked up, too, it was to see the flock winging their way northwest, still calling and darting within their cloud of feathers and flapping. “Damn. I was saving the last of my cinnabon for them. Guess I waited too long. Ah, well.” Shrugging, Bodhi crammed the last three bites into his mouth and cast a faux-somber gaze on Galen, who was watching him again with that customary, Jyn-like amusement. “More for _this_ Rook, I suppose.”

 

“Indeed,” Galen agreed, nudging Bodhi’s arm, hopefully _not_ noticing the way Bodhi shivered, then tried to turn that shiver into another shrug.

 

For another few minutes—during which Bodhi had to fight _not_ to slip his hand into Galen’s for comfort, reassurance, and simple companionship—the pair stared after the departing rooks and then, after the birds had disappeared, into the slowly westering sun.

 

#

 

At the front desk of the Jedha City _Ramada_ , Bodhi—once more wearing his shades to save his poor eyes, and thank goodness—leaned back against the front desk, facing the brightly-lit lobby, while Galen checked in.

 

“. . . and here’re your keycards and welcome packet,” the chirpy, but pleasant receptionist said, handing both to Galen who took the packet first—handing it to Bodhi and smiling when the younger man straightened, and turned to nod and wave at the receptionist, who smiled back—then slipped the cards into his right breast pocket. Bodhi automatically opened the welcome-packet, pocketed his shades, and scanned the few pages in it quickly.

 

“Thanks,” he said absently, noting that Galen’s suite-type was equipped with a mini-bar. He turned an excited grin to Galen. “Looks like _someone’s_ gonna be snacking on thousand-dollar bags of peanuts and mortgage-priced mini-bottles of _Coca Cola_ ,” he said, quirking his brows knowingly, surprised when Galen actually looked sheepish. Then he laughed. “You’re _so_ busted, Mister!”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Galen placidly claimed, but his lips were twitching like he was fighting a laugh of his own.”

 

“Sure, ya don’t, Professor. Just don’t come complaining to me when you wind up with a stomach ache, and the _bill_ for the crumbs and decimation you’ve left in your wake!”

 

 _Now_ , the laugh escaped. “I _am_ a grown man, you know. I _can_ resist the siren call of overpriced nibbles and brown sugar-water, Bodhi.”

 

“Mm-hmm. I’m sure you _can_ , Galen,” Bodhi said facetiously, snickering as he shared a glance with the receptionist, who covered a small giggle with her hand, her eyes ticking back and forth between Bodhi and Galen, the former of whom told her: “You’re probably gonna need to keep housekeeping on standby for the duration of his stay so they can restock.”

 

Those giggles became an outright laugh and the receptionist’s dark eyes nearly closed with genuine mirth. “I’ll let housekeeping know we’ve got a _Charlie-niner-bravo_ on our hands.”

 

Bodhi laughed with her and Galen watched them both, bemused. “Do I even _want_ to know what a _Charlie-niner-bravo_ means?”

 

“Probably not,” Bodhi joked and the giggling young clerk snorted.

 

“I just made that up,” she admitted and Bodhi grinned.

 

“You’re _awesome_ ,” he told her, and she dimpled and demurred, her dark, heart-shaped face just barely showing a pleased flush.

 

“Well, you’re not so bad, yourself,” she decided with a final chuckle. “I hope you and your partner enjoy your stay with us! The bellhop’ll have your bags up at your room shortly. And if either of you need anything, just dial nine-seven-nine for the front desk, and ask for Karen—” she gestured at her nametag “—and I’ll do my best to get it to you, _tout de suite!_ ”

 

“Oh, _merci_ , Karen,” Galen said smoothly, while Bodhi was still blushing and gaping at the receptionist’s mistaken assumption. Then he was taking Bodhi’s elbow with his free hand and leading him away from the desk as the next guest stepped forward to check-in. “Come along, my dearest.”

 

“You are _not_ funny!” Bodhi hissed when they were hopefully out of Karen’s ear-shot, torn between wishful-thinking and mortification as he yanked his elbow away with more than a little regret. Galen merely smiled his slight, amused smile, and placed his hand at the small of Bodhi’s back.

 

“Come, come, my gentle dove . . . we have a misassumption to perpetuate, don’t we? Don’t want to embarrass or disillusion sweet Karen, now, do we?”

 

“Oh, yeah, we sure _don’t_. I’m pretty certain she thinks our brave and peerless love is inspiring,” Bodhi said, flat and without inflection.

 

“I _am_ a very proud husband. And you _do_ make a very sweet and caring wife,” Galen acknowledged with no small amount of glee, casting a sideways glance at Bodhi, who huffed.

 

“ _You’re_ the wife.”

 

“But I’m not nearly pretty, enough,” Galen protested, laughter still in his voice. Bodhi crossed his arms as they got to the bank of elevators. Galen pushed the **UP** button.

 

“Oh? And _I_ _am_?”

 

“Yes.” A brief beat. “You’re _gorgeous_ , actually.”

 

Bodhi’s eyes widened and he gaped over at Galen, who was smirking up at the back-lit floor indicators above the doors.

 

“If I didn’t know better,” Bodhi began slowly, almost suspiciously. “I’d swear you just . . . _flirted_ with me.”

 

Galen’s smile widened and he opened his mouth to say . . . something Bodhi never found out, because just then, the elevator dinged and the doors to their left opened, spilling out five chatting and laughing guests who were excited about going to see the Old Temple.

 

Bodhi—who’d seen said Temple about a million times since moving to Jedha for college, and was more interested in what Galen’s reply might have been—rolled his eyes and glared as the guests went by, taking no notice of Bodhi or Galen.

 

The latter, his hand still on the former’s back, urged him toward the waiting, empty elevator. When they were both in, Galen selected the **11** -button. The doors began to close and Bodhi’s mouth began to open, some unknown—even to himself—question on his lips.

 

Just then, the elevator doors dinged open again and a family of six crowded into the moderate space with them, chattering in fast, New York-style patter, accents thick, nasally, and vaguely annoying.

 

An eternal minute later, Bodhi and Galen were edging through the family—Bodhi earning a glare from the mother when he accidentally stepped on her foot and only offered a token apology—and out into the silent relief of the eleventh floor. The elevator doors closed behind them on the family’s loud, confusing conversation.

 

After sharing a glance that said: _New Yorkers, huh? Fuhgeddaboudit!_ , the pair made their way to suite 1114. Once there, Galen swiped his keycard and opened the door, gesturing Bodhi in first. Still holding the welcome-packet, Bodhi stepped into the carpeted suite and looked around at the small living area—complete with sofa, chairs, coffee table, wall-mounted television, and large windows looking out onto the city and the Temple that was its center—with a small smile.

 

“So. This is how the other half lives, huh?” Though the questions he really wanted to ask— _Do you_ really _think I’m gorgeous? And if you do . . . what does that even_ mean _? What, if anything, do I_ do _with that?—_ were far less rhetorical in nature.

 

And he couldn’t help staring at the two darkened doorways that represented the bathroom . . . and the bedroom.

 

Galen edged past him in a brush of firm, cotton-covered flesh and that sandalwood-water scent, accented by hints of heated, but clean skin. Bodhi couldn’t help but inhale deeply, and as unobtrusively as he could.

 

“The other half of what, I’ve always wondered.” Setting his carry-all on a chair perpendicular to the sofa, Galen then sat in said sofa with a sound of quiet relief. Bodhi, _still_ holding the welcome-packet, lingered near the closed door, fidgeting and nervous.

 

“I dunno.” Bodhi shrugged and stepped a little further into the room, noticing a small table with a lamp, just below the television. He sat the packet down next to the lamp, which he then turned on. A moment later, he turned it back off. The natural light was more than enough to do freaking needlepoint by, let alone to see by. “The other half of the world, maybe?”

 

Galen, leaning back in the blue sofa’s embrace with his eyes closed, made a noncommittal sound, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, then sighed.

 

“Are you going to hover near the most convenient escape route, Bodhi, or will you come in and have a seat?” Galen’s eyes opened just enough for their bright glitter to show. He patted a spot on the sofa, a respectable distance away from his own, and said: “I promise, I don’t bite without permission.”

 

Bodhi opened his mouth to reply with _Heavens_ only knew _what_ , thought better of letting his tongue run away with his brain, and closed his mouth again. But he _did_ make his hesitant, wary way to the sofa, and perched on the edge and almost as far from Galen as he could get without depositing himself ass-first on the floor.

 

“If the flirting made you uncomfortable, I _do_ apologize,” Galen said easily, but sincerely, eyes still shut. The dark fan of his lashes fluttered minutely against his pale, slightly flushed cheek. For some reason, that sent an intense, illogical _tsunami_ of scalding _want—_ so big and bright that it was almost _need_ —rolling through Bodhi’s entire body, traveling from dermis to marrow, then back again, lingering pointedly at gut and groin. In that moment, his attraction to Galen Erso became more than just theory and objective appreciation of an attractive man, but moved into the realm of gritty _reality_. Reality in which he was _maybe_ a foot and a half away from the sexiest man he’d ever laid eyes on, and said man had been _flirting_ with him. _Him!_

 

Had even let someone—admittedly a complete stranger—think they were a _couple_.

 

“It didn’t make me uncomfortable.” _Not exactly_ , Bodhi silently added, so as not to be a _total_ liar, if only to himself.

 

“Really, I’ll stop if I’m being . . . creepy.”

 

 _“Creepy” isn’t the word I’d use,_ Bodhi thought with something like despair as he realized he was slowly, but surely starting to get hard. He quickly looked away from Galen, flushing again and experiencing brief, but panic-strong fight-flight-freeze. “I don’t mind the flirting. You . . . you don’t have to stop if . . . if you don’t want to. . . .”

 

Now, Bodhi could feel Galen’s gaze on him, measuring and wry. “And _you_ don’t have to humor me, Bodhi Rook.”

 

“Who says I am?” Bodhi mumbled, blanching then blushing. He stole another quick glance at Galen, and swallowed around a dry, ticking throat and a soundless, cinnamon-flavored belch. “I mean, just ‘cause I’m shit at flirting _back_ with debonair men doesn’t mean I _dislike_ being flirted with. It just means that being charming and witty and communicative isn’t a part of my skill-set.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Galen cleared his throat and Bodhi . . . shifted _just_ enough that he wasn’t balanced on the _very edge_ of the sofa. And if he also sidled a little bit closer to Galen, too, what of it? “Besides, charm and wit aren’t necessary to communication—though they _do_ occasionally enliven it. Sincerity and honesty are of equal, if not greater value. To me, at least. What I genuinely prize in companions is an engaging, intriguing personality and the kind of sterling character one can spot from a mile off. Both of which you have in spades, by the way.”

 

Bodhi barely caught the yearning near-whimper that tried to sigh out of him. “Are you s-still flirting with me?” he asked, watching from the corner of his eye as Galen sat up and shifted a bit closer.

 

“Merely making observations,” was the soft reply, and Bodhi looked over at Galen, catching that curious, solemn—wondering? Dazed?—expression from the airport on his square, handsome face. “That’s all.”

 

“Oh,” Bodhi said regretfully. And that regret spoke before he could stop it. “Well, that sucks, ‘cause I _really liked_ the flirting. Y’know, even if it wasn’t gonna go anywhere.”

 

Galen’s expression of shock perfectly mirrored the one Bodhi wore, as well, as he hurriedly covered his traitor-mouth.

 

“Do,” Galen began, then cleared his throat again—New Mexico’s dry air took everyone a couple days to get used to, at least—and edged a few inches closer, holding Bodhi’s gaze intently, almost commandingly. “Do you _want_ the flirting to go somewhere, Bodhi?”

 

Eyes saucer-wide, now, Bodhi automatically inched closer to Galen, never breaking their shared gaze, until the edge of his right hand was pressed against Galen’s left. Callused fingertips brushed his fingers fleetingly.

 

“Maybe I _do_ ,” he whispered after moving his hand. He licked his suddenly dry lips with a tongue that didn’t feel very much wetter. “Maybe I want. . . .”

 

“What?” Galen asked just as quietly when Bodhi didn’t finish his sentence. It was as if they were both afraid to break the moment that’d somehow crept up on them and decided to set a spell. “Go on.”

 

“Maybe I just . . . _want_ ,” Bodhi replied with naked simplicity and creaking, but brave emphasis on the final word. His mouth suddenly flooded, and tingled in expectation and anticipation as Galen’s brow unfurrowed and the other man leaned closer, his hand covering Bodhi’s completely in large, dry warmth.

 

Soon, all Bodhi could see was those hazel-grey eyes and the crinkling crow’s feet around them as Galen began to smile. His lashes fluttered—or perhaps _Bodhi’s_ did—as vision narrowed to a velvety, crimson-black darkness that felt like _safety_ , _smelt_ like sandalwood, and _tasted like_ —

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so far?
> 
> Also note: I am TERRIBLY SLOW at answering comments, but I get to them eventually. And I will reply to every single one. Thank you for reading, kudoing, and commenting. Your feedback and support mean the world to me and I am truly humbled that the words I spew all over the interwebz make some of you smile. YOU make ME smile :-)
> 
> See?
> 
> Come join me on [The Tumbles](beetle-ships-it-all@tumblr.com)!


	3. Spreading Wings . . . and Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. NC-17 rating for this chapter.

**“How wonderful it must be, I thought, to be able to just spread your wings whenever you like without someone following you around trying to swat you out of the sky.”** **  
―** **Gina Holmes** **, “** **Wings of Glass”**

 

—like _desire_. Faintly like spearmint and _less_ faintly like ginger ale, but mostly . . . mostly like desire.

 

As his tongue teased at Galen’s soft lips, Bodhi moaned breathlessly, drawing in a sudden breath through his nose as Galen opened his mouth and sent his own tongue out like an emissary from a foreign land. An emissary which Bodhi received with both excitement and relief, sucking lightly on it in welcome, and near-desperation.

 

Galen’s fingers linked with Bodhi’s on the sofa and with a low, rumbling grunt, he surged forward, taking and possessing Bodhi’s mouth with licks and lips, teeth and tongue, swallowing Bodhi’s nascent whimpers and moans as if they were his due. Bodhi, for his part, was hard-pressed to keep up, being so very inexperienced when it came to even this much intimacy. In fact, the only people Bodhi had ever kissed were his high school prom date—a sweetly geeky, near-stranger named Janine, who’d turned out to be gay, as well—and one of Jyn’s law student-friends, who’d been cute and sexy, in a very serious, scholarly way, but it’d been like kissing a slice of Wonder bread. In both cases, there’d been no spark, no sizzle, no . . . no _this_ :

 

Galen’s hand still linked with his, squeezing lightly, rhythmically, to the beating of Bodhi’s heart and the pounding of his pulse;

 

Galen’s other hand coming up to cup Bodhi’s scruffy jaw, his thumb stroking Bodhi’s cheekbones so, _so_ gently;

 

Galen all but whispering lovely, lustful poems with his lips and tongue, controlling the pace of the kiss, slowly, but also steadily increasing the intensity, and encouraging Bodhi—with approving, savoring little groans—to give as good as he was getting.

 

Really, it was all Bodhi could do to hold his own. He shifted to face Galen more fully, lifting his free hand and finally letting it settle on Galen’s knee, the tips of his fingers resting on the firm muscles of Galen’s lower thigh. He squeezed tentatively and Galen made a sound that was somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, breaking the kiss. He leaned his forehead against Bodhi’s. They were both breathing hard—practically panting—and Galen’s thumb was still stroking Bodhi’s cheek.

 

For that matter, Bodhi was still squeezing Galen’s knee. As if the curved joint was an anchor that was the only thing keeping him from floating away, to join those rooks in the skies beyond the rest-stop.

 

“Galen,” Bodhi began, flushed and uncertain of what to say. What he was _going_ to say. He let out a breath that tasted of cinnamon and spearmint in almost equal measures, then licked the taste of ginger ale from his lips. “ _Please_ ,” he exhaled, his breath humid and warm on Galen’s mouth, just as Galen’s breath was on Bodhi’s own. “Please—”

 

And that was all Bodhi managed—all he had in his communication-arsenal, at the moment—before Galen’s other hand came up to cup Bodhi’s face gently, tenderly, tilting his head up just slightly and stealing another kiss. This one was a brief, teasing, sizzler that left Bodhi moaning and trying to lean forward for more. But Galen held his face still, hushing him in a hoarse whisper even as he leaned in and captured Bodhi’s slick, tingling lips again. He sucked on the lower one, and laving it with tongue and nipping it with careful teeth before engaging the rest of Bodhi’s mouth in a kiss that was slower and sweeter than the first one, but no less intense for that slowness and sweetness.

 

Bodhi wasn’t even aware of the passage of time as they sat on the sofa making out and necking—Galen occasionally nuzzling Bodhi’s nose and cheek, and kissing his way down to Bodhi’s jaw and throat to nip and suck on the skin there, before returning like one obsessed to Bodhi’s wet, waiting mouth—or of anything that wasn’t Galen’s spearmint-clean, ginger-sharp taste, and his warm, callused, feather-light touches. But slowly, he began to realize that he was completely prone on the sofa, Galen’s solid body hovering over his own as if reluctant to rest his weight on Bodhi’s slighter, wiry frame.

 

“ _Please_ ,” Bodhi broke the kiss this time, to mumble in a voice that cracked up into yet another whimper. His hands were on Galen’s trim, firm waist, clenching in the fine cotton of the charcoal-colored, button-down shirt the other man was wearing. Tugging to untuck it from the similarly colored slacks. He didn’t know what he was hoping for or expecting . . . only what he wanted. And he _wanted_ , not at all suddenly, Galen’s skin sliding under his worshiping hands and fingers. Wanted to feel the jump and twitch and flutter of solid muscles at the passage of his touch. Wanted his nails to gain purchase in hot, smooth skin and eager flesh, as Galen’s body pressed his own into the sofa hard and repeatedly, until—

 

“Please, _what_?” Galen murmured on Bodhi’s kiss-swollen lips, straddling Bodhi’s legs and bearing his  own body up with one arm and hand, while his other hand ran up and down Bodhi’s chest and abdomen almost soothingly. (Except for the part where even that was making the sorta-hard-on Bodhi’d had since sitting down on the sofa a full-on _rager_ that demanded _some_ sort of attention. Really, even a single stroke’d be enough, at this point.) “Tell me what you want of me . . . what you want me to do.”

 

“All of you,” Bodhi sighed out in a rush, before his brain could complicate matters with _thinking_ or being a _bit_ more discriminating with what it allowed his _mouth_ to say. “I want _all_ of you . . . want all of _you_ to touch all of _me_.”

 

Galen sat back just enough that Bodhi opened his eyes and found himself gazing up into Galen’s hazel-grey ones. They were slightly amused, but far, far more heated and possessive, grave and almost _yearning_.

 

“That’s a tall order, Bodhi,” he noted quietly. “And not one to be made lightly.”

 

Tugging down on Galen’s hips—which availed him naught, as the larger man was also a good deal _stronger_ , apparently, and not inclined to let himself be moved just yet—Bodhi sighed. “What makes you think I’m taking this— _any of it_ —lightly? That I’m . . . that I’m _offering_ anything lightly?”

 

Galen’s brows drew together. “I’m practically a stranger to you . . . why would you offer me anything at all? Even . . . the pleasure of your body?”

 

“Have you _seen_ you, Galen?” Bodhi snorted indelicately, his hands clenching on Galen’s waist again. “You’re ridiculously, irresistibly sexy. If you wanted my _kidney_ , I’d give it to you. And the other one to use as a spare.” Bodhi let his head sink deeper into the soft cushion behind his head, his eyes slipping shut as he fought off an embarrassed flush. “I’m so attracted to you and have been since the moment I saw you, that the only thing I can think about is your hands on me, touching me. And my hands on you. _All_ over you. I just _want you_ so much . . . it kinda hurts.”

 

“Bodhi,” Galen began almost awkwardly, sitting up a little more, as if he was about to _get_ up, and Bodhi, with all his strength and in a sudden bid for the sort of intimacy he’d never experienced with or wanted _from_ another person, yanked down on Galen’s body. With a startled _oof!_ Galen collapsed on top of him, driving the air, but not the presence of mind out of Bodhi, who instinctively and instantly wrapped his legs around Galen’s hips and pushed his pelvis up and into the body on top of his own.

 

Galen was just as hard as Bodhi . . . if not harder.

 

And he felt dauntingly— _intriguingly_ —big.

 

“Well,” Bodhi said, smiling as Galen groaned, hoarse and low, and nuzzled Bodhi’s neck and jaw like a man who couldn’t help himself, swearing vehemently as he did so. “Fancy meeting _you_ here.”

 

“That was a cheap trick, Bodhi,” Galen admonished breathlessly, right in Bodhi’s ear and licking the lobe, once he ran out of swear words in English and some other language that sounded like . . . Swedish? Norwegian? Whatever it was, Bodhi laughed and ground his erection against Galen’s, slow and dirty, in a maneuver he’d often imagined, but never done with anyone. “I was _trying_ to be responsible. To think about— _knald,_ Bodhi—about consequences. . . .”

 

“Yeah . . . and I was trying to _distract you_ from thinking about consequences,” Bodhi confessed without shame, though he was blushing at his own boldness. Galen leaned back a little to look into Bodhi’s eyes, his own twinkling and canny.

 

“You were— _are_ —trying to seduce me.”

 

Bodhi grinned rather haplessly at the non-question and shrugged. “Depends on if it’s working or not.”

 

That amused gaze flickered and skittered away. Down to Bodhi’s mouth, and Galen licked his lips as if he was sorely tempted by the sight. “I plead the Fifth,” he said after long moments had passed. Bodhi chuckled.

 

“Then I’ll just have to keep at it till I get the results I want. Keep doing stuff like _this_ —” and with that, Bodhi thrust up against Galen, who huffed out a hot, hard breath and responded in kind. And back and forth, reciprocating, until they’d set up a steady, warring rhythm that accelerated and intensified to the point that their renewed kissing became little more than wet, panting breaths on each other’s faces. “And like _this_ , too. . . .”

 

Bodhi opened his eyes again and licked Galen’s trembling lips, sucking on the bottom one in kind, before kissing his way down to Galen’s chin, along the pulse of his throat, and across to the hollow junction between neck and collar bone, nuzzling the soft fabric of Galen’s shirt before biting down hard enough to be felt through that fabric.

 

Galen made a sound that was sort of indescribable—part-groan, part-gasp, part-sigh . . . _all_ _sex_ —and the driving, downward thrusts of his hips stuttered in rhythm but gained in power as he threw his head back. Bodhi licked back up his throat, bobbing up just enough to plant a kiss on Galen’s chin. His own lips were sensitive, and rasped by faint, pleasantly stinging stubble.

 

“You’re so . . .  _so_. . . .” Galen gasped out, pinning Bodhi’s body suddenly with his own. Bodhi wriggled, enjoying his pinned state, and smirking up at the breathless professor. Galen’s eyes were distant, distracted, narrowed at the arm of the sofa behind Bodhi’s head. “So . . . _so_. . . .”

 

Galen was frowning down at Bodhi, now, as if Bodhi was somehow problematic. The grin faded and he ruefully averted his own eyes. Stared at Galen’s Adam’s apple as it bobbed quickly and rather comically. “So—what?” he asked, defensive and wary, expecting to hear _inexperienced_ or _unattractive_ or some other excuse for why Galen maybe didn’t want him quite enough to see where this thing between them might go.

 

“So _young_ ,” Galen finally said, reaching up to turn Bodhi’s face back toward his. Those hazel-grey eyes were solemn under their glaze of desire. Said glaze was bright and unhidden, and Bodhi felt a boost of confidence from that and from Galen’s next words: “So smart, so funny, so adorable, so _sexy_ . . . and so very _young_.”

 

Blinking in surprise, Bodhi’s smile was tentative, but there. “But I notice you didn’t say I’m _too_ young.” When Galen turned a bit red and averted his gaze again, Bodhi grinned once more. “I’m old enough to play the game and pay the consequences, Galen. Old enough to . . . to. . . .”

 

“To _what_? Barely old enough to legally _drink_ , I know. You’re still an _undergrad_. And certainly, _not_ old enough to be off your parents’ insurance,” Galen said with some rue of his own, and Bodhi winced.

 

“I don’t _have_ any parents, anymore. They died when I was four.” Shrugging, Bodhi tilted his chin up defiantly at the look of horrified and apologetic sympathy that crossed Galen’s unusually readable face. “It was a long time ago. So, I’ll thank you not to _remind me_ of the worst thing that’s _ever_ happened to when, a minute ago, you were grinding your dick against mine in a dead-heat race to see who’d come in their pants first. Easily the _best_ thing that’s ever happened to me,” he added, only for Galen to frown and hang his head.

 

Bodhi cupped the older man’s face in his hand until Galen snuck a glance at him, both bitter and self-loathing. “You’re not taking advantage or coercing me into something I don’t want and will regret.”

 

“Of course, I am, Bodhi. My daughter is _older_ than you,” he informed Bodhi, as if Bodhi didn’t know. As if Jyn didn’t lord that measly five months over him at every opportunity.

 

“Yeah, but by less than a year.”

 

Galen shook his head. “You’re young enough to be my son.”

 

Bodhi shrugged yet again. “I don’t care. Your age doesn’t matter to me, except that I apparently find it part of what makes you so fucking hot.”

 

“Bodhi—”

 

“Kiss me again, Galen? Please?” Bodhi plead, then drew in what scant breath he could with Galen’s warm, delicious weight on him, still and hot. “Kiss me. _Right now_.”

 

Galen heaved a soft, sad sigh that was as good as a no, Bodhi immediately understood. “Why?” the other man asked unwillingly. With a flash of inspiration, Bodhi widened his eyes and held Galen’s miserable, but wanting gaze. He knew if he could find just the right words. . . .

 

“Because in about thirty-seven seconds, I’m gonna be on my knees, sucking your dick. And I don’t know whether you’re one of those guys that minds come-breath, or not. So, I just wanna get some more making-out in before—mmph!”

 

Galen proceeded to turn Bodhi into a filthy liar, because thirty-seven seconds later, his tongue was still practically halfway down Bodhi’s throat as they kissed like the world was about to end.

 

He ran his hand up and down Bodhi’s leg, sliding under the hem of his shorts to caress Bodhi’s inner thigh, the muscles of which trembled and twitched at his touch. The younger man spread his legs wider, till one was hanging off the sofa, his foot brushing the floor. Galen scrabbled his way up the leg of Bodhi’s shorts as far as he could go—which wasn’t nearly far enough for either of them—then, with an annoyed grunt, pulled them both up into a sitting position, so Bodhi was straddling his lap, and snaked his hand between their bodies to undo Bodhi’s _Danger Mouse_ belt. It got whipped off and tossed in the general direction of _away_. Then Galen was working on Bodhi’s fly, getting it unbuttoned and unzipped in record-time, and sliding his hand into the opening, his eyes burning up into Bodhi’s as the younger man panted and moaned, nodding his permission. As a reward, Galen kissed him again, wet and wicked.

 

When Galen’s hot, rough hand encountered Bodhi’s bare flesh, Galen actually sat back a bit in surprise, effectively ending the wild kiss. Bodhi quirked a rakish half-grin at his almost lover.

 

“Laundry day’s come and gone. Hence, me going commando.” Another shrug that aimed for nonchalant, but fell far short considering there was a hand on his cock that wasn’t his own. A _talented_ hand. The _best_ hand. “But, hey, ease of access is where it’s at, am I right?”

 

“You’re not wrong,” Galen agreed, smiling a little as he explored Bodhi’s cock with teasing fingertips, running them up and down the turgid, leaking length until Bodhi’s eyes fluttered shut once more and he made a brief, choked noise that was all breathy _need_. In response, Galen took him in hand fully, stroking sure and unhurriedly, and kissed him again: small, pressings of lips peppered on and around Bodhi’s mouth. Then his thumb swiped the tip of Bodhi’s cock, dragging roughly across the slit.

 

Bodhi cried out, high and almost pained, into the kiss, and with a shudder came all over Galen’s hand and wrist.

 

And kept on coming . . . until it felt as if his very life-force had been drawn out of him and he flopped back down to the sofa, spent and limp as a damp dishrag.

 

Galen—with a smirk on his lips that Bodhi couldn’t see, but could definitely _feel_ —kissed a still-gasping Bodhi, wiping his hand on his own shirt. “ _Pragtfuld_ . . . you’re . . . rather _breathtaking_ in the throes of passion,” the older man rumbled fondly, and Bodhi huffed a drained laugh.

 

“I’m sure my ‘O’ face is a sight to behold,” he exhaled weakly, opening his eyes and blinking till the blurry picture above him resolved into Galen’s handsome, gently smiling face. “I probably looked like a freak.”

 

“There’s not been a moment since I met you when you’ve been anything less than stunning, Bodhi Rook,” Galen murmured, his eyes both fond and _hungry_ as they traveled Bodhi’s face, scanning it ceaselessly. “You’re a beautiful young man.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Bodhi laughed again. “Don’t say it like _that_. It makes me feel like I’m twelve.”

 

Galen winced and Bodhi kicked himself for not thinking before he spoke. “Okay, let’s rewind the last five seconds and pretend I didn’t swallow my foot up to the ankle? I _like_ you, okay? I like _everything_ about you, not that I know all that _much_ about you. I like the way you smile, small and kinda crooked. I like the way your eyes seem to change color depending on the light and what you’re feeling. I like that you’re funny and laidback and you don’t treat me like I’m a kid, and you’re an engineering _god_. I like that you’re tall and sexy and so fucking _debonair_ : _James Bond_ -style. I like that you think _I’m_ . . . _not_ gawky and dumb-looking—I mean, my eyes are too round and my nose and ears stick out and I always look like I’m afraid I’m about to be goosed or punched in the fucking face, or something. But when _you_ look at me, I feel . . . attractive. _Hot_ , even.”

 

“You _are_ ,” Galen agreed, rueful once again, sitting back on his heels, running his hands up and down Bodhi’s still-trembling thighs. “You _really_ are.”

 

“And I like that you _think_ that, even if you’re, like, the only one. But you _don’t_ have to keep reminding me how young I am. Believe me, I _know_. I know, and I’m cool with the fact that my relative youth turns you on even though, I dunno, maybe you don’t want that to be the case.” Bodhi’s brow furrowed as the look of consternation on Galen’s face intensified. “I’m cool with being a barely-legal piece of ass you can have a dirty screw with in an anonymous hotel room, but _don’t_ beat us both up over it, okay? I’m an _adult_ and I’m _consenting_ , Galen. I’m _saying_ _yes_.”

 

Still frowning, Galen blinked. “ _Yes_ to _what_?”

 

Blushing, Bodhi glared ineffectively and lamely, still too fresh off the best orgasm of his _life_ to really manage actual ire. “What do you _think_?”

 

This time, Galen’s eyes were the ones to flutter shut and he made a soft, sad, sighing sound.

 

“Listen, Bodhi,” he said. And: “You’re my daughter’s best friend. . . .”

 

“Jyn’s got _nothing_ to do with this,” Bodhi said firmly. Galen’s laugh was wry and mirthless.

 

“I’m sure Jyn would say otherwise.”

 

“Then it’s a good thing she’s not here, right?”

 

“Bodhi—”

 

“ _Galen_.” When the older man opened his eyes again, Bodhi levered himself up with a groan, until he could wrap his arms around Galen’s neck. He was surprised that Galen didn’t try to stop him. “This has nothing to do with _Jyn_ and Jyn has nothing to do with _this_. She’s a person we _both_ love, but this _isn’t_ about her. It’s about what we want. And I, for one, want. . . .” flushing, Bodhi buried his face in Galen’s shoulder, inhaling the man’s subtle, masculine scent and letting it calm him a bit. “I w-want you i-inside me. I’ve never _said_ that to anyone, never _wanted_ that from anyone. But I’m saying it and wanting it from _you_. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Even the ability to fly, which . . . was number one on my list, till I met you. Now, that’s kinda been left in the dust.” Leaning back to search Galen’s changeable eyes, Bodhi found his _own_ eyes being searched with piercing attentiveness. “What I’m trying to say is . . . I’ve never . . . _never_. Never really _wanted_ _to_ badly enough to do anything about it . . . other than fantasize and eat my heart out. Because as much as I _wanted_ _it_ , I was afraid of it, too. Afraid of being that close to someone. Afraid I wouldn’t like it that much, or that it’d hurt so bad I’d outright _hate_ it. Afraid that I wouldn’t _feel anything at all_ because I’ve spent so long doing exactly that, but you . . . Jesus, Galen, you make me _feel,_ and . . . I just _want_ you. Can I _have_ you? _Please_?”

 

Galen was gaping by the end of Bodhi’s impromptu monologue, eyes wide and round with surprise and several other emotions that flickered and flared in gold-green-grey semaphore.

 

“You,” he finally started to say, then shook his head. “You’ve never been with another man before.”

 

It wasn’t a question, but Bodhi answered, anyway. “Nope. And I, uh . . . can’t get it up for girls. Found _that_ out on prom night.”

 

Another flicker in those eyes and an unreadable expression on that face. “And you think you want to be with _me_.”

 

“I _know_ I wanna be with you. Because it feels like I’ve never wanted to be with anyone _else_ , in comparison,” Bodhi said plainly. “You feel like my first _everything_. You’re definitely my first handjob. And I’d really like it if you were my first, um . . . other things, as well.”

 

“’Other things’? Bodhi, you can’t even _say_ it—how can you be certain you _want_ it? With _me_ , no less? How can you know what you want if you’ve never _had anything_? That’s the rationale of a desperate child,” Galen said with patronizing sadness. Which he seemed to regret the instant it was out of his mouth, if the pained wince and look of self-disgust on his face was anything to go by. “ _Lort_ , Bodhi, _honning_ , that . . . that was out of line and unfair, and I—”

 

But Bodhi was suddenly coldly angry. He shoved Galen backwards hard, surprise giving him the necessary force to topple the other man back onto the sofa. Bodhi withdrew his legs from the top of Galen’s and swung his still-shod feet to the floor. A moment later, he was unsteadily on his feet, his orgasm-wobbly legs still shaking slightly, but holding him up. He zipped up his fly quickly as he strode to the door, somehow managing not to castrate himself in the process.

 

“Bodhi, please,” Galen called after him, sounding weary and apologetic. But Bodhi was in no mood for it. He may not have had _much_ pride, but even _he_ had a final straw. A tipping point. A line over which Galen had stepped.

 

“Fuck you,” he replied when Galen said his name again. Bodhi reached for the doorknob with one hand and patted himself down for the keys to Death-Star with the other. “I did everything but fall to my knees and _beg_ you—threw my fucking virginity _at your feet_ , and _that’s_ _what_ you have to say to me? Fuck _you_ , you condescending _prick_.”

 

Half a minute later, having gone through every one of the many pockets his shorts possessed, and the one in his Acapulco shirt, Bodhi was _still_ standing in the entryway to the room, worried that he’d lost the keys to Jyn’s baby somewhere in the hall. Or the lobby. Or the parking lot under the hotel.

 

Then he heard, from behind him and not more than a few feet away, a metallic jingle.

 

Face going up in flames, Bodhi spun around to see Galen standing before him, holding Jyn’s Kermit the Frog keychain with its mini-flashlight and mini-Swiss army knife. And, most importantly, the key to Death-Star.

 

“They must’ve fallen out of your pocket,” Galen said without inflection, but when Bodhi reached out, snake-quick, to snatch the keychain, Galen just as quickly pulled it back out of reach. Without looking, he then tossed them over his shoulder, smirking a little at Bodhi’s outraged squawk. The keys landed in a corner near the small writing desk and Bodhi, with a narrow-eyed glare for Galen, moved to retrieve them.

 

Galen grabbed him around the waist as he went by, pulling him back into a close embrace, resting his chin on Bodhi’s shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Bodhi struggled against and shoved half-heartedly at the body and arms around him.

 

“Let go of me.”

 

“I was wrong to say what I said, the way I said it.”

 

“Yes, you were.” Bodhi glared at the writing desk because, for the moment, he couldn’t glare at Galen. But he stopped struggling. “Lemme go.”

 

“If I do . . . will you storm off like you were trying to do a minute ago?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“Then for now, I think I’ll just hold onto you,” Galen decided with a satisfied sigh, his embrace tightening until his body was pressed flush against Bodhi’s back. He was still hard. _Really_ hard, considering the tenor of their conversation. Bodhi shivered, repressed a soft, needy moan and ignored the gut-and-groin tingle that meant he was about to be hard again, himself, and _very_ soon.

 

Galen’s shifted and pressed a tender kiss to Bodhi’s temple. “You smell _so_ good. Like cinnamon and spice.”

 

“Stop it.”

 

“Stop smelling you?” Galen sounded amused once more and Bodhi stiffened, that amusement as rankling as a handful of thumb-tacks down the back of his shorts.

 

“Stop _playing games_ with me! Save this mixed signals-bullshit for some _other_ guy or girl who enjoys banging their head into a brick wall. ‘Cause I _don’t_.”

 

“Bodhi, _min kære_ . . . I’m _sorry_.”

 

“So, what? You don’t get to push me away only to pull me back only to push me away _again_ , whenever you feel like it. I’m _not_ a doormat . . . yours or anyone else’s.”

 

“I never said you _were_. I certainly don’t _think it,_ either.” Galen sighed again. “I invalidated your feelings which are clearly very real. I may not be able to take that back, but allow me to make it up to you—”

 

“Make it up to me by letting me go so I can get back home and work on my final project for Krennic,” Bodhi said flatly.

 

“If you want me to _beg you_ to stay . . . I will.” Exhaling a warm breath in Bodhi’s hair, Galen’s embrace tightened for a moment. “It’d only be fair. I was . . . unwittingly cruel to you, but cruel, nonetheless. And if you require attrition or atonement for that. . . .”

 

“Atone— _Jesus_ , Galen! What the _hell_ kinda person do you think I _am_? First, I’m a desperate child who doesn’t know what he wants, and now I’m—what? Some punitive _dick_ - _weasel_?” Bodhi demanded, his cold façade cracking just like his voice. Anger leached away to be replaced by hurt. “I don’t wanna . . . make you suffer or be cruel back to you! That’s not what I want at all!”

 

“Then what _do_ you want? What can I say or do to make you stay?” Galen’s voice was strangely small and humble, but his arms were still strong and tight and protective. _Possessive_. Bodhi shivered. “Forgive me for not realizing how much I want you to stay till you almost left.”

 

“I—” Bodhi sighed as the grudge—of the sort he’d _never_ before had trouble holding for . . . _ever_ —he’d been working on shattered, the pieces scattering and fading before they even hit the ground. “You’re a manipulative bastard, you know?”

 

“I do, actually.” There was a tentative smile in Galen’s voice. “But I only use my power for good. And occasionally to get something I want _very_ badly.”

 

Bodhi closed his eyes and let his tense body relax just a little into Galen’s, noting the way those possessive arms grew a bit more so. “And . . . is _me staying_ something you want badly?”

 

There was a brief lacuna of silence before Galen answered. Silence in which he merely held Bodhi tight, swaying them gently and getting tangibly harder and more erect against Bodhi’s ass.

 

“Yes,” he said when he finally spoke, his lips brushing Bodhi’s temple again. “ _Stay_. Even if . . . even if it’s just to tell me I’m a fool for not _instantly_ taking you up on your offer of companionship while I had the chance.”

 

And with that, Galen shifted his body away from Bodhi’s just enough that his embrace, though still close, was markedly looser. And Bodhi could no longer feel even the _heat_ of Galen’s hard-on. The lower halves of their bodies were now separated by inches of air.

 

“Maybe we could . . . chat about engineering. As a pursuit and a career,” Galen suggested with suspect cheer and casual calm. Frowning once more, Bodhi managed to turn in the embrace holding him, until he was gazing up into eyes that glinted a somber, sorrowful grey-brown even in the bright, afternoon sunlight. “I may even be able to assist you in securing an intern—”

 

“ _Shut up_ , Galen,” Bodhi ordered, wrapping his arms around Galen’s neck and bouncing up on his toes to kiss the other man silent.

 

After a moment of surprise, Galen was kissing him back with desperation of his own, his arms tightening again, his body pressed into Bodhi’s as his hands slid down from Bodhi’s waist, to his ass. Once there, they clenched and kneaded and squeezed until Bodhi was moaning into the kiss, loud and wanton, and thrusting against Galen’s thigh as Galen did the same.

 

“Bodhi . . . _min dyrebare dreng_. . . .” he whispered into their kiss. And when he began backing them unerringly toward the blue sofa again—neither man letting go nor breaking the kiss to do so—Bodhi, already half-hard again from being held so tight, and grinding and being ground against so forcefully, simply held on for dear life and followed after.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh? Huh?  
> ::waggly eyebrows::
> 
> See me on [The Tumbles](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com) :-)


	4. A Flight . . . a Fleeing . . . a Falling. . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. NC-17 rating for this chapter.

**“It was a flight, a kind of fleeing, a kind of falling, falling higher and higher, spinning off the edge of the earth and beyond the sun and through the vast silent vacuum where there were no burdens and where everything weighed exactly nothing.”** **  
―** **Tim O'Brien** **,** **The Things They Carried**

 

They fell onto the couch once more, kissing and touching, hands reverent but desperate wherever they passed. Bodhi wriggled happily under Galen’s solid body, lifting his hips without being asked when Galen’s fingers scrabbled at his waistband. Back to his fly—Bodhi whined as Galen got to his knees to do so, quickly unzipping the cargo shorts once again—then again to his waistband instantly after the zipper was down. He all but ripped Bodhi’s shorts down, his brand-hot hands then settling on Bodhi’s spread thighs, then his hips, then his abdomen, rubbing in soothing, slow circles as Bodhi gazed up at him almost drunkenly.

 

“You, too,” he panted out, eyes wider than dinner plates as Galen stared with searing, hooded eyes at Bodhi’s visibly rising cock. It was several long moments before those now green-seeming eyes ticked up to Bodhi’s and a small smile curved Galen’s lips. Bodhi returned it hopefully, his gaze drifting down to the distended front of Galen’s charcoal-colored slacks. Licking his lips, Bodhi darted a glance back up to Galen’s face, then back at the hard-on straining his fly. “I w-wanna . . . I mean . . . c-can I see _you_? I mean—”

 

Galen cut off Bodhi’s nervous stammering with a quick kiss, before bobbing back up and working on his belt.

 

Bodhi’s impossibly wide eyes grew even wider as Galen—after dropping the belt like an expensive bit of garbage, then unbuttoning the fly of his slacks—hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his slacks and boxer briefs, and pushed them down in one steady shove.

 

Which left Bodhi gaping at another man’s erect cock. Certainly, not for the first time—Bodhi was no stranger to porn—and from far closer than he ever had before. And Galen’s was. . . .

 

“ _Wow_ ,” Bodhi breathed, reaching out to run his finger along the upright, leaking length. The angry-red skin was almost hot to the touch and when Bodhi’s finger trailed through the wetness at the tip, the pad of his fingertip sliding enticingly across the slit, Galen made a low, grunting sound, almost like he’d been punched in the gut. Momentarily worried, Bodhi looked up at Galen’s flushed, wide-eyed face, a concerned question on his lips. But Galen’s dilated pupils, parted lips, and accelerated breathing answered the unasked interrogative.

 

So, swallowing around a dry, ticking throat, Bodhi returned his gaze and attention to Galen’s cock, studying it as he teased and traced it with fingers that quickly became confident as Galen also grew visibly harder, approaching a perfect ninety-degree angle. He was uncut, unlike Bodhi, and his cock seemed huge—like, intimidatingly, complex-causingly so—both longer and thicker than average. Well, longer and thicker than _Bodhi_ , anyway, who sure _hoped_ his own cock was at least average length and width.

 

As Bodhi watched and touched, Galen’s cock not-so-slowly cleaved to his body, drops of precome welling steadily up from the tip to run down to the base, where it disappeared in the surrounding nest of medium-brown pubic hair.

 

Another drop welled out and ran down toward Bodhi’s first two, stroking fingers. Curious, Bodhi didn’t avoid it, choosing, instead, to catch the drop. He brought his wet fingertips to his lips, sucking them in without hesitation, eyebrows lifting a little at the bitter-musk-salt taste.

 

It was neither better nor worse than the taste of his own precome, just . . . different.

 

Smiling around his fingers, Bodhi met Galen’s widening gaze, but not before noting the deepened flush and light-fast-shallow breathing, alternated with swipes of Galen’s tongue across his lips. Bodhi slowly withdrew his fingers while still sucking on them and making small, sinfully _satisfied_ noises.

 

Galen’s eyes were practically all pupil—only the thinnest ring of green-glinting grey surrounding them—as he took over stroking himself with tight, rough, almost perfunctory passes of his hand. His gaze never left Bodhi’s occupied mouth.

 

“You have no _idea_ how affecting you are in this moment, Bodhi Rook,” he muttered hoarsely. “No idea how much I _want_. . . .”

 

Pulling his fingertips out of his mouth with a final _pop!_ , Bodhi contrived to look as innocent as possible, blinking earnestly up at Galen. “Why don’t you _show me_ , Professor?”

 

Galen’s eyes fluttered shut as he moaned, his hand stilling and tightening around his cock as if he was trying to stop himself—with main-force—from coming. Bodhi levered himself up on one arm, bringing his other hand up to settle high on Galen’s chest, just over the strong, slightly fast, but steady beat of his heart. Smiling, Bodhi waited for the older man to open his eyes before speaking.

 

“So, that offer to get on my knees still stands, y’know?” And when Galen made a stifled sound of pure want, Bodhi’s smile because a grin. “I meant it when I said I want you inside me and I think having you halfway down my throat counts as that. Well . . . three-quarters of the way,” Bodhi corrected himself after taking a moment to reassess the length of Galen’s cock. “I mean, I’ve got a kinda long neck, but _your_ _dick_ is also kinda long, too—like, really, surprisingly longer than I tend to fantasize about . . . not to mention thicker—so I think three quarters isn’t as liberal an estimate as all tha—”

 

“Bodhi,” Galen interrupted, sounding both fond and on the verge of laughter, reaching out with his free hand to cup Bodhi’s face, stroking his cheek with a callused, flat thumb. His eyes were amused and tender and possessive, all at once. “Shut up.”

 

Face aflame at being hoist with his own petard, so to speak, Bodhi huffed. “When _I_ say it, it’s irreverent and cool. When _you_ say it, it’s just rude.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Galen replied, tilting Bodhi’s face up as he leaned in and down to capture his lips in a gentle, teasing kiss. Of course, it didn’t stay gentle and teasing for long. Soon Galen was all but devouring Bodhi’s mouth while Bodhi moaned and whimpered, high-pitched and desperate, through his nose. He wrapped clutching arms around Galen’s neck, clinging to Galen’s broad chest and shaking. When Galen’s hand other hand settled on his hip and urged him down to the sofa once more, Bodhi went eagerly, gasping as Galen settled on top of him and between his spread legs, heavy and hot and _so_ _right_. His cock seemed to automatically slot just against Bodhi’s in a way that had them both throwing their heads back and crying out.

 

Galen was the first to recover with a near-growl, burying his hot, damp face in Bodhi’s throat, kissing, licking, and nipping the damp pulse-point that throbbed under his lips. Bodhi clutched at Galen more desperately than ever, babbling nonsense even _he_ couldn’t follow—his lips clearly needed to be occupied with _something_ , even while he was so turned on, he could barely _think_.

 

And then, Galen began to move his hips and pelvis in short, sharp, powerful, snapping thrusts. Bodhi cried out again at the slick slide of their bodies, the mutual heat generated by the friction of their flesh. Soon, he was bucking up to meet each thrust, eyes shut-tight, teeth embedded in his lower lip as Galen continued to drive his hips down, hard and relentless. Bodhi, hampered by his damned shorts, still tried, nonetheless, to spread his legs wider. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his legs around Galen’ hips and cling to the man with every appendage capable of doing so, rather than just bracket Galen’s thighs with his own trembling ones.

 

“ _P-please_ ,” he became aware of stammering again—could feel the bob and twitch of his Adam’s-apple as Galen’s lips traveled across it, on their way to Bodhi’s left ear. “Please, _Galen, oh_. . . .”

 

“I want nothing more in this moment than to be inside you, too,” Galen whispered before his teeth gained stinging, delightful purchase in Bodhi’s ear lobe for a few electric seconds. Bodhi almost lost Galen’s next words underneath his own high, breathless gasp. “I don’t think I’ve wanted anyone quite _this_ badly in a very long time.” For a while, Galen fell silent. Broodingly so, despite the pistoning of his hips and the worshipful glide of his lips. “ _Lort_ , how I want you. . . !”

 

“ _Fuck_ , Galen, then _take_ me!” Bodhi panted out, his embrace tightening. “I mean, we don’t have any condoms, but I swear I’m clean . . . I’m in perfect health except for a vitamin B deficiency, my wonky-sensitive eyesight, and flat feet . . . neither of which are catching. Although, they kept me from getting into the Airforce, once upon a time. But I hope they won’t keep me from getting sexed up-by you. So, yeah! I’m yours for the taking! Yours if, y’know . . . you really _want_ me, like you said.”

 

Silence fell for a few minutes after Bodhi’s blather tapered off. Galen’s hips stuttered to a slow, not-quite-stopped grind that had Bodhi groaning low and loud. And then, that, too . . . stopped.

 

Twitching his ten-ton eyelids open, Bodhi found himself staring into Galen’s still dilated eyes. The other man was as solemn as a churchyard during a funeral.

 

“I really _do_ want you, Bodhi. Right or wrong, wise or un. I want you more than I can convey with mere words, but—” Galen sighed, cutting himself off regretfully.

 

“But?”

 

“We are, unfortunately, missing something every bit as important as condoms,” he informed Bodhi, whose eyebrows quirked in question.

 

“Your dick. My ass. Right-minded, mutual consent.” Bodhi shrugged in confusion. “What’s missing from that equation, Professor?”

 

Galen smiled a little. “Lubrication.”

 

“Oh. _Oh_.” Bodhi blushed and bit his bottom lip once more. “Yeah, I guess that’s kinda important.”

 

“Just a little.” Galen’s small smile curved a bit more, but his eyes were still solemn.

 

“Is there anything you have that we could _substitute_ for lube. . . ?” At this point, Bodhi would’ve accepted _Bisquick_ as a quick solution to their problem. But Galen was shaking his head _no_.

 

“Nothing that’s safe and effective. At least not that I have _at hand_. Unless _you_ —ah. I thought not,” the other man finished with a sigh when Bodhi shook _his_ head _no_. “Then all we can do is make the best of the situation we’re in. Not that that should be either a chore or a challenge.”

 

And with that, Galen drove his hips into Bodhi’s again, hard and fast, his cock sliding alongside Bodhi’s, then into the crease between Bodhi’s pelvis and thigh.

 

Fingers scrabbling at Galen’s broad shoulders, Bodhi panted and gasped, hitched and stammered. “Yes, G-Galen . . . _G-God_ . . . just like th-that.” His eyes fell shut again as Galen laid a trail of kisses down to Bodhi’s collar bone, where he applied his teeth gently, testing at first, then sharper and with more intent as minutes passed, during which Bodhi’s pleasure and temperature skyrocketed.

 

All he could see was the velvety, red-black darkness of his eyelids. All he could smell and taste was a mélange of tantalizing and musky scents: the combined perfumes of spice and sandalwood, cinnamon and water. Of clean sweat, recycled air, and—faintly—whatever sickly-sweet chemical cleaning agent was used to clean the sofa and cushions.

 

“Please, Galen, _fuck me_ ,” Bodhi begged, close to coming and unable to do so. But he knew—just _knew_ —that if he had Galen inside him, battering his way to Bodhi’s core, he’d be able to come at last. Harder and longer and more intensely than he ever had.

 

“I can’t. . . .” Galen gritted out, lips once more wet and reverent on Bodhi’s pulse, even as his hips were taking every liberty. “I _won’t_ risk hurting you—won’t make a hash of your first time. You deserve _better_ than that.”

 

Nuzzling the crown of Galen’s head, inhaling the crisp, autumn-scent of his pin-straight hair, Bodhi made a petulant noise. “Maybe . . . I mean, what if we used a _lotta_ spit—”

 

“We’re not _cavemen_ , Bodhi,” Galen said, sounding almost scandalized, and Bodhi laughed, opening his eyes just as Galen’s face loomed right over his own, both fond and stern. Bodhi laughed again, leaning their foreheads together.

 

“Maybe not, Professor, but even _cavemen_ hadda fuck. Even the _gay_ ones. Whaddaya think _they_ used, if _not_ spit? Earthworms? Little red berries?”

 

Galen stole a kiss that lasted for longer than either of them expected, only breaking it when oxygen became a necessity once more. “We are _not_ cavemen. And I won’t risk damaging you— _hurting you_ —just because I can’t—or _don’t want_ —to control myself with you.” Leaning back a bit and looking into Bodhi’s eyes, Galen smiled a little, until Bodhi smiled back. Galen bussed that smile tenderly and his hips slowed into a different, softer rhythm.

 

They resumed their heated kissing as their bodies cycled back from the edge, languidly thrusting against and sharing with each other the sheer joy of touch and taste and togetherness.

 

Once again, Bodhi was lost to red-velvet darkness, cinnamon and sandalwood, and the loud knocking of his heart, as it beat itself against the prison-cage of his ribs in a wild bid for freedom. In fact—

 

Galen broke the kiss suddenly, sitting up a bit. Bodhi opened blurry eyes, blinking until he could see Galen looking up toward the door, like a bloodhound on the scent. He was frowning.

 

It took a few more moments, but then Bodhi realized why Galen had stopped kissing him and why he was looking so pointedly in the direction of the door.

 

That knocking hadn’t been Bodhi’s caged bird-heart, but someone _actually_ _knocking_.

 

Galen started to shift a little, as if about to get up. Bodhi clutched at the heavier man with all his strength, and with both arms and legs, clinging like a spider-monkey.

 

“Be very quiet, and they’ll go away and come back later,” Bodhi whispered, darting in to lick a stripe up Galen’s throat, to his chin. The other man shivered and choked back a groan.

 

“Bodhi—”

 

“Shhhhh . . . quietly,” Bodhi breathed, sucking a hickey—the first he’d ever given—onto Galen’s neck, which occasioned another soft groan. Bodhi leaned back proudly, to survey his handiwork, smiling at the large, red mark, livid against Galen’s fair skin. “Jesus, but you mark-up pretty.”

 

Galen flushed and fought a smile, finally looking away from the door, where the knocking had stopped and stayed stopped. His gaze on Bodhi was soft and indulgent. “You’re a terrible influence. That could’ve been important. It could be a fire-drill.”

 

Bodhi snorted. “Bodhi Rook don’t even _get outta bed_ for no _drill_. If it ain’t _Towering Inferno_ , I don’t really give a shit. Now, where were we?”

 

Galen smirked and leaned down, slow and deliberate, his bright eyes so very heated and hungry. “Well, I don’t know about _you_ , but _I_ was right about _here_ ,” he murmured on Bodhi’s lips before taking them in a very thorough kiss that saw them grinding and thrusting against each other again in very short order.

 

Bodhi’s body quickly picked up where it left off: being incredibly hard and desperate to come, needing just a little bit more to finally fall over the edge into the biggest, most devastating pleasure-abyss of his young life.

 

He got that something when Galen unexpectedly broke the kiss again, to brush his index and middle fingers across Bodhi’s kiss-swollen, touch-sensitive lips.

 

“Wha—?” Bodhi began, but Galen shook his head once, his eyes intense and piercing.

 

“Suck,” he said in a voice that was barely more than a word-shaped groan. When Bodhi opened his mouth automatically, half in question, half in trusting obedience, Galen pushed his first two fingers into Bodhi’s mouth, crooking them just slightly on Bodhi’s tongue. His eyes flashed and his lips curved in something far too predatory and commanding to be a smile. Whatever it was, though, just the sight of it on Galen’s amazing mouth was enough to make Bodhi whimper and twitch. “Get them good and wet, _min smukke lille rågen._ Or should I say _magpie_?”

 

“ _Mmmph_?” Bodhi questioned around Galen’s fingers, tongue still swirling about them till Galen, chuckling, eased them out reluctantly, practically dripping. “What the _fuck_? _Magpies_? Are you _high_?”

 

“Only on you, Bodhi,” Galen said warmly, darting in to steal more kisses before he sat up and trailed his wet fingers down Bodhi’s over-stimulated dick, causing it to twitch and Bodhi to make an embarrassingly needy, squeak-like sound. Then Galen’s fingers were brushing lightly, quickly past Bodhi’s aching-full balls, and dancing back along his perineum.

 

All the while, he continued to hold Bodhi’s gaze.

 

Bodhi, somewhat beyond cogent thought, didn’t even realize what Galen was doing—was simply meeting that intent, devouring gaze with wide, dazed eyes, and surrendering his body and pleasure to the man so intent upon possessing them—when Galen’s wet, warm fingers teased the rim of his entrance before pushing against it with gentle pressure. Bodhi’s already-wide eyes widened further and did their best to roll back into his head as air whooshed out of him explosively and he called Galen’s name in a ragged, broken tone, his entire body trying to clamp down on and clench around fingers that weren’t even inside him yet.

 

“Please . . . please . . . _please_. . . .” he heard himself chanting, his head thrown back into the sofa’s throw-pillows, unable to blink, his eyes trained with unseeing focus on the white ceiling. He whimpered yet again when Galen laid a series of soft kisses along the arching line of his throat. Those fingers were pressing and massaging the protective ring of muscle, slow, but insistent, alternately pressing in just a half-centimeter, then withdrawing. Then a centimeter. Then two. Then Bodhi was yowling like a cat in heat as Galen, sinking careful teeth into the skin over Bodhi’s pulse, pushed his fingers definitively into Bodhi’s untried body.

 

Bodhi gasped hard, eyes fluttering shut at last, as Galen’s fingers drove steadily, inexorably into him, burning and thick and wonderfully invasive, to the tune of his own hoarse panting and Galen’s Swedish or Norwegian murmurs against his throat (words of praise and endearment, it was plain, even if Bodhi didn’t know what they were and was in no state to appreciate the sentiment).

 

Galen’s fingers continued their forward momentum for a brief eternity, until they hilted inside Bodhi, who was so hard, he was weeping from the ecstatic agony of it, blubbering _Galen_ s and _please_ s.

 

And then, Galen’s twisting, scissoring fingers began squirming and crooking inside of him as if _searching_ for something. Just as Bodhi realized that something was his prostate, Galen _found_ it. And _Bodhi_ . . . Bodhi’s body stiffened as if it was being electrocuted . . . then went limp, panting and moaning rather pathetically. Torn between begging for more and shying away from the intensity of that secret touch.

 

“Bingo,” Galen murmured smugly on Bodhi’s Adam’s-apple, slowly withdrawing his fingers to a series of pleading _don’t_ s from Bodhi. “Hush, little rook. I’ll give you what you need.”

 

And before Bodhi could even process the words properly, with his overwhelmed, pleasure-inundated mind, Galen was pushing back into him hard and fast, those unerring fingers stabbing mercilessly at Bodhi’s prostate, causing a riptide of pleasure so sharp and sweet and pervasive— _explosive_ —that Bodhi arched up off the sofa with a soft, almost strangled cry as he began to come harder than he ever had, for the second time in less than an hour.

 

Bodhi barely felt it when Galen pulled out, but he _definitely_ noticed when Galen thrusted in again, nailing his prostate like it was a five-alarm blaze and his fingers were heat-seeking missiles. And kept doing that. And doing that. And _doing that_ , while _Bodhi_ kept coming and coming and _coming_ in long, hot pulses and spurts that seemed to go on forever. He came until it felt as if he was shooting brain matter. Maybe even his soul.

 

All the while, Galen continue to take his body in the most intimate way possible, with ruthless, efficient strokes and no hesitation, wringing every bit of pleasure he could from Bodhi’s defenseless body.

 

Until, at last, Bodhi collapsed back to the sofa once more, moaning and gasping, shaking and quaking, and covered from chin to crotch in his own come. By the time he opened his wet, tangle-lashed eyes, it was to see the gorgeous and drool-worthy sight of Galen, looming over him on his knees, bracing himself on the back of the sofa with one hand, and stroking himself hard, fast, and rough with the other. The eyes on Bodhi’s face were as intent and intense as ever. Bodhi couldn’t look away from that gaze—didn’t even notice he was holding his breath until Galen released his own in a serene, almost relieved sigh, and came copiously on Bodhi’s spent cock and abdomen in a series of forceful, rather pained-seeming spurts.

 

Bodhi huffed a tired laugh as the hot splashes and drops of Galen’s climax added to the mess all over his torso. Then, finally, the other man was shuddering and groaning as the final dribbles dripped on Bodhi or ran down Galen’s cock to further wet his pale-knuckled hand.

 

As the last of his release welled out of him, Galen’s shoulders sagged and, with a grunt, he sat on his heels and closed his eyes, clearly drained in more than one sense of the word. With another huff of a laugh, Bodhi rolled his eyes up at the ceiling, capable of thinking nothing at all for the first time _ever_ , and . . . feeling surprisingly okay with that.

 

 _Happy_ , even.

 

And there they lay and sat, respectively, for long minutes—Bodhi grinning up at the ceiling, one arm jammed against the back of the sofa, the other curled limply on his come-soaked wife-beater; Galen still sitting on his heels, breathing in and out in slow, measured breaths, his eyelids fluttering every once in a while—as sweat cooled and pulses slowed. As their bodies cycled down from such powerful climaxes.

 

Until, at last, Bodhi looked away from the ceiling to see Galen watching him rather gravely, but otherwise unreadably . . . surveying Bodhi as if Bodhi was an illusion or a hallucination.

 

Bodhi understood the feeling completely, because . . . how could Galen Erso even be _real_?

 

He opened his mouth to say . . . _something_ . . . but nothing came out except a nervous chuckle and a hiccup. Bodhi was quick to cover his mouth—with his clean hand. Galen smiled, crooked and wry. He, too, opened his mouth to speak when the _whir-click-release_ of the door unlocking sounded, loud and unmistakable in the silence.

 

They both looked to the door—Bodhi sitting up to do so—at the _creak-bump_ of wheels rolling over the threshold and a sudden gasp immediately thereafter.

 

The startled bellhop, a small, pale young man who couldn’t have been older than Bodhi, was gaping and saucer-eyed as he took in the scene before him: two equally wide-eyed, half-naked, come-covered men in extremely compromising positions . . . Galen’s hand was even still holding his half-hard dick, which was in plain-view of the poor, now blushing and embarrassed bellhop, who quickly looked away, clutching at the tall cart with Galen’s bags on it and trying to back both it and himself out of the suite.

 

“I—I—I thought you was out,” the bellhop stammered then, somehow, turned even redder. “I was here about twenty minutes ago, but when I knocked, there wasn’t no answer, so I did my other rounds and came back! I mean, I didn’t think you was _in the room_ , so I was just gonna leave the bags here for ya when ya got back! Jesus-Mary-Joseph, I’m so sorry, sir! _Sirs_!”

 

The bellhop was practically out the door, by now, along with Galen’s luggage. Bodhi and Galen shared a quick glance, then Galen was calling after the bellhop, tugging up his slacks and underwear as he got to his feet—quickly and more gracefully than Bodhi could’ve managed in his place—tucking himself away and zipping up.

 

“Yes, er . . . my companion and I were a bit distracted and didn’t answer the door . . . my apologies for that and for, er . . . _this_ ,” Galen said with enviable _sang froi_ as he smiled apologetically, but didn’t approach the apprehensive bellhop. Instead, he wiped his still-wet hand on his shirt again and removed his wallet from his back pocket with the other. “What’s your name?”

 

“Uh . . . um, Rudy, sir. Rudy Gargano.” The bellhop looked genuinely spooked, but when Bodhi smiled lamely, Rudy returned it just as lamely.

 

“Well, Mr. Gargano, thank you for delivering my luggage so speedily and with such . . . determination.” Galen took a few steps forward, stopping just past the sofa, several bills in hand as he put his wallet away once more. “Please leave the bags—oh, right inside the door is fine. And thank you again for your tenacity and, er . . . forbearance.”

 

“My what, now?” Rudy the bellhop asked, but stepped back into the suite proper, bringing his luggage cart with him. Galen’s bags were, indeed, the only ones on it and Rudy removed them quickly, still hectic-red at the cheeks and pale everywhere else. Meanwhile, Galen strolled over, looking remarkably pulled together for someone who, not a minute ago, was attempting to engage in small-talk with another man who was covered in both of their come. He held out the several folded bills to Rudy, who took them warily, questions in his light-blue eyes. Galen shrugged.

 

“Consider it hazard-pay,” he said casually, which surprised a laugh right out of Rudy, who covered his mouth immediately after. That didn’t stop the snorting giggles that followed, however.

 

“Hazard-pay,” Rudy said, around hand-muffled snickers. “Ha!”

 

“Indeed,” Galen agreed kindly, clapping the bellhop’s arm. “Anyway, thank you again, Rudy. For your discretion.”

 

Rudy glanced at Bodhi again, briefly, then looked back at Galen with a smile that’d turned just a bit wry and affable. “Not a problem, uh, sir. Have a nice stay. You, too, sir,” Rudy said, nodding at Bodhi. Then with a rattle and a bump, he and his cart were gone, and Galen was shutting the door slowly, almost ponderously.

 

When he turned back toward Bodhi, his face gone unreadable again, but for gravity and a certain pained grimness. Bodhi sighed and smirked bitterly, anticipating Galen’s next words and looking away from the brush-off he was sure was coming.

 

“Bodhi,” Galen said in carefully even tones, just as predicted. Bodhi swallowed around the frog that’d teleported into his throat and blinked away a sudden and persistent blurring of his vision. Out of nowhere, his stomach was churning and his chest ached as if there was a thousand-pound weight on it, constricting movement and even respiration. “We need to talk.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say "hi!" on [The Tumbles](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	5. No Such Thing as Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting.

**“There is no such thing as magic," she told me. "You can b e l i e v e all you want, but it's never going to do you any good. Nobody flies. We only fall.”** **  
―** **Melissa DeCarlo** **,** **The Art of Crash Landing**

 

Shaking his head ruefully, Bodhi looked down at himself, half-naked, disheveled, come-streaked.

 

His body still sang with endorphins and all that good, jizzy-jazz, but his mind and heart were a different story. They sang another song, entirely: one of disappointment and even heartbreak.

 

 _Heartbreak?_ Bodhi asked himself incredulously. _I’ve only known him for a few hours. How can I_ possibly _be heartbroken that a near-stranger—no matter how sexy and smart and funny and plain-fucking-_ incredible _—just had his way with me and is about to kick my dorky, inexperienced ass to the curb? It’s not like I even made it_ worth his while _to finger-fuck me. I just laid there like a beached whale and let him make me come twice. Then he had to finish_ himself _off without me even trying to reciprocate._

_I’m fucking useless. . . ._

 

Still smiling a bitter smile, Bodhi sat up fully, swinging his feet to the floor, and levering himself to a sitting position so he could yank his cargo shorts up over the gross, sticky mess that was his lower-half. But he didn’t stand, just yet. His legs were still shaking, though he imagined they’d hold him up long enough to get him to Death-Star. The real question was: How the hell was he supposed to make it to the parking lot without garnering unwanted attention for the state of himself? He literally looked—and smelled—like someone had tried to drown him in jizz.

 

Frowning down at his wife-beater, he supposed he could take it off and just button the Acapulco shirt, which had managed not to be _completely_ covered in come, through some miracle. And the few speckles there were, weren’t noticeable with all the bright colors and tropical-themed nonsense going on.

 

And it was just long enough to cover the errant spatters that’d somehow landed near the waistband of his shorts, too.

 

But one thing was for damn sure: Laundry day had officially arrived. With a _bang_.

 

“Bodhi? Bodhi, are you listening to me?” Galen was asking from closer than he’d been just a few seconds ago. Starting, Bodhi looked up, his face a stiff mask of don’t-give-a-shit smirk and hard, cold eyes. Galen stood near the armrest of the sofa, where Bodhi had laid his head mere minutes ago, while recovering from the most devastating—and admittedly _only_ —sexual liaison of his life.

 

And, when all was said and done, Bodhi had the distinct feeling he’d be recovering for a long time to come.

 

“I heard every word, Professor. You said we need to have a talk. So . . . _talk_ , already. I’m listening.”

 

Frowning now, too, Galen stepped closer, stopping when Bodhi flinched away and _looked_ away from him. But only for a few indecisive moments. Then he was taking a deep breath and stepping closer to Bodhi, standing between his legs before he could move away again. Then Galen knelt when Bodhi continued to avoid his eyes, placing one hand on Bodhi’s knee. It was warm and gentle . . . and still somehow the _cruelest_ touch he’d ever received.

 

But it also was the most _tender_ touch he could remember receiving—memories of his parents being fuzzy and indistinct, and life with his adoptive parent being something _other_ than touchy-feely—and though he wanted to flinch away on principle, he found that he couldn’t.

 

“Bodhi,” Galen said again, just as grave and concerned as ever, and suddenly Bodhi was hopping mad. He discovered the strength to meet Galen’s worried, hazel-grey gaze even as he shoved Galen’s big, gentle hand off his knee.

 

“Lemme make this easier on ya, Professor: Ya wanna pretend this never happened, right?” Bodhi’s brows shot up in question. Or perhaps accusation. Galen flushed, but didn’t answer . . . merely held Bodhi’s gaze almost as if _he_ was the one being hurt. Bodhi could’ve laughed till he died. “Ya want me to keep my mouth shut about it and pretend it never happened? Well, guess what, Doc: it’s your lucky day, because I’m _not_ lookin’ to fuck with someone who doesn’t wanna fuck with _me_. I’m not lookin’ to embarrass anyone or ruin any familial relationships, so don’t worry.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about, Bodhi,” Galen said lowly, and the way he said Bodhi’s name caused shivers to go dancing throughout the younger man’s already-sensitive body. “That’s not it at all.”

 

“Uh-huh. Okay. Whatever. But just so we’re clear: This?” Bodhi gestured between himself and Galen, noting the way Galen’s eyes ticked from Bodhi’s flashing hand, then back up to Bodhi’s face, as if he was trying to figure both gesture and gesturer out. “Never happened. And I won’t bring it up or allude to it, or be coy about it, or any of that shit. We’re both adults. We made a mistake and we can get past it and be civil to each other. Deal-ski?”

 

Bodhi held out the hand that he’d gestured with for shaking. Galen glanced down at it again, then back up at Bodhi’s face, his own both contemplative and unhappy. And not a little confused.

 

“Perhaps what occurred between us shouldn’t have, Bodhi, but . . . I wouldn’t call it a mistake.” Galen was still frowning, brow furrowed as he searched Bodhi’s eyes as if looking for an answer to an important question. “Calling it a mistake would imply that I regret it, and . . . I don’t. Regret it, that is. I never could.”

 

Bodhi snorted and opened his mouth to let-fly with something snarky and cutting, but nothing came out except a sad, strangely bereft sound. One that he was forced to quickly cover by clearing his throat. But Galen heard it, if the surprised expression on his face was anything to go by. Bodhi looked away again, his own face gone up in flames.

 

“Yeah, well. . . .” he said, trailing off lamely. Then he was blinking fast and hard, willing his vision to clear. He cursed his stupid, light-sensitive eyes for tearing up at the least convenient time. The last thing he wanted to do was shed tears in front of Galen at _this moment_.

 

But what Bodhi wanted and what Bodhi _got_ only rarely coincided, as was proven by the tears suddenly rolling down his cheeks. He swore and swiped at his face with a hand that was tremoring, just a little. He could feel Galen’s concern like a floodlight and was certain he was blushing enough that it showed up even on his complexion.

 

“‘S fuckin’ _bright_ in here. Like a fuckin’ interrogation room,” he said gruffly, sniffling and rubbing his eyes as if they were irritated. Which they should’ve been since they usually were when the light was bright enough to make them water. But for once, his eyes weren’t irritated at all . . . just watery. Weird.

 

“Yes, the sunset is quite spectacular, here,” Galen agreed sedately, removing a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket and offering it to Bodhi. It was monogramed: _G. R. E._

 

“What’s the R stand for?” Bodhi asked, sniffling again. Sure, light irritated his eyes, but it’d never made his damned _nose_ run. This was just plain _odd_. “Rango? Rasputin? Rory?”

 

“Do I _look_ like a _Rory_?” Galen asked, smiling a little, sad, but genuine and a bit crooked, as Bodhi caved and snatched the handkerchief, wiping his eyes, but not his nose. Getting tears on someone else's hankie was one thing, but snot?

 

 _Then again, he’s already covered in both of our come. I doubt he’s gonna freak out if I blow my nose on his monogrammed snot-rag_ , Bodhi told himself with a shrug, then proceeded to do so noisily. All under Galen’s slightly amused gaze and crooked half-smile. Then he tossed the crumpled hankie at the coffee table and, surprisingly, didn’t miss. “Nah. You don’t look like a Rory, at all. Hair’s not red enough.”

 

Galen chuckled and shifted, sliding smoothly from kneeling, to sitting on the sofa next to Bodhi, their thighs and sides bare inches apart. The warmth of him was as palpable as the westering sunlight, only much more pleasant.

 

And much more dangerous and forbidden.

 

“The R stands for _Raef_. Galen Raef Erso,” Galen was saying, glancing out the tall window to his left. Then he turned his gaze back to Bodhi, squinting a little. “May I ask you something?”

 

“ _Ahmed_.” Off Galen’s questioning blink, Bodhi smiled a little, too. “ _My_ middle name. For my mother’s father. _Bodhi—Bodhidharma_ —because my father was a rebel, and really into Zen.” _And_ Rook _because the day Miranda Rook adopted me was the happiest day of my fucked-up life. I was_ glad _not to be Bodhidharma Nasir, anymore: the pathetic orphan everyone pitied but no one wanted. . . ._

 

But _that_ was a whole _different_ conversation, one Bodhi doubted he and Galen would _ever_ have. Especially since, after Jyn and Cassian’s elopement, they wouldn’t be likely to see each other again.

 

(And _that_ realization certainly didn’t cause aching pangs in his chest.)

 

“Oh.” Galen smiled wider, then chuckled. “Good to know. But I was actually going to ask you—and feel free to tell me to go fuck myself—but I was going to ask for . . . well, I don’t suppose I _should_ ask, after all. I’ve no right, after everything—”

 

“Oh, just _ask_ _me_ , Galen!” Bodhi snapped, then smoothed his voice as much as he could, adopting a casual air. “The worst I can say is _no_ , right?”

 

“That’s exactly why I _don’t_ want to ask,” Galen agreed softly, then sighed, looking down at his large, neat hands. “What I wanted to ask you for was . . . a kiss.”

 

Bodhi blinked, utterly nonplussed. “You want me to _kiss_ you?”

 

“No. _I_ want to kiss _you_ ,” Galen added before Bodhi’s face could even fall. Then, snorting again, Bodhi shook his head incredulously.

 

“Is there a difference? It’s all kissing, right? No matter who initiates it?”

 

“Not at all. Those are two quite different occurrences,” Galen disagreed, this time. His profile lightening perceptibly before he turned to Bodhi once more, amused again, but hopeful, too. “I would like to kiss you once more, as a . . . memento of . . . what we shared.”

 

“We didn’t share _anything_ , Galen, remember?” Bodhi said flatly, forbiddingly, scowling at the other man’s unmitigated _gall_. At the _sheer_ _insensitivity_ of such a request, when Bodhi was doing his best to hold himself together in the wake of . . . of. . . .

 

Of something which, for everyone’s sake, simply _had not_ happened.

 

Bodhi kept his mask up and refused to bend even an inch, his eyes narrowed and wary. Galen’s sad, little smile turned wry and accepting. As if he’d expected no less of Bodhi. Or no more.

 

“Right,” he finally said, downcast, but hiding it well. And: “Of course.”

 

After another minute of awkward silence, Bodhi stood, hitching up his shorts and zipping his fly. He quickly pulled off his shirts, balling up the wife-beater, and pulling the Acapulco back on and buttoning it one button-off. But he didn’t really care.

 

Without glancing at Galen, whose gaze was once again tangibly on his back, Bodhi went to retrieve his belt—easily spied by the writing desk, by dint of the giant, glinting _Danger Mouse_ buckle—and Jyn’s Kermit the Frog keychain, which was still in the corner where it’d been flung less than an hour prior.

 

 _God, has it not even been an hour, yet?_ Bodhi thought wearily, miserably.

 

Once belted and buckled, keys in his left hip-pocket, shirt balled up discreetly in his left hand, Bodhi turned to Galen with his biggest, dorkiest, least-real smile and saluted the other man sardonically.

 

“It’s been a slice, Professor Erso. See ya around, huh?” Hunching his shoulders and hurrying toward the door without further ado, Bodhi was already building a mental wall around his first sexual experience—one made of cement and barbed-wire and attack-dogs—when Galen said his name softly. Without looking back, Bodhi paused, his fingertips just grazing the doorknob.

 

“Jyn and Cassian are going to take me out to dinner, tonight . . . I would very much like it if you joined us,” Galen said almost stiffly, and quite formally. Bodhi frowned at the doorknob.

 

“Why?” he asked, letting his hand close around the cool, smooth metal.

 

“Because I . . . you’re Jyn’s closest friend,” Galen said, as if that was apropos of _anything_. Bodhi shook his head in rueful disbelief. “I think she’ll appreciate the moral support.”

 

“I didn’t ask why _Jyn_ would want me there, Galen. I asked why _you would_.”

 

“I don’t want Jyn and Cassian to feel as if I’m judging them, or as if it’s them against me. If _you’re_ there—” Galen began, but Bodhi cut him off.

 

“Sorry. You’re gonna have to come up with a better lie than _that_ , Professor.”

 

The silence that was Bodhi’s reply drew out for so long, he almost looked around. _Almost_. Instead, he opened the door to the room. “Good-bye, Professor. See ya at the elopement.”

 

“I just—I don’t want to not see you again until we’re outside City Hall!” Galen blurted out just as Bodhi stepped into the hall. After a moment of thought, he caught the door before it could slam shut and lock behind him. Drummed anxious fingers against the wood.

 

“Why do you care if you ever see me again, _period_?” Bodhi asked so quietly, he was practically asking _himself_. But Galen heard. _Of course_ , he heard. He was at the door and pushing it open wider and leaning on it, too close to Bodhi, and yet too far.

 

Despite himself, Bodhi turned to face Galen and was surprised at the expression of worry and hope on the man’s square, handsome face and in his intent, intense gaze.

 

“I care, Bodhi. I care,” Galen said firmly, not quite answering the question. Bodhi noticed that, but didn’t quite have the heart to push. And his traitor-eyes were tearing up again, even though the hallway was rather dim. “I . . . like you quite a bit. You’re smart and funny, kind and charismatic. And you have _character_ , as well as personality. I would consider it an _honor_ to know you. To . . . get to know you. I would . . . like to consider you a friend.”

 

Looking into Galen’s earnest, shadow-dark eyes, Bodhi’s anger and hurt stirred restlessly . . . but he tamped it down with mercenary suddenness, sighing.

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Professor Erso,” he said hesitantly, slowly. Galen quirked his crooked half-smile again.

 

“I _know_ it’s not a good idea. And it’s just _Galen_ , remember?” When Bodhi rolled his eyes, Galen grinned, charming and wide. “Please call me _Galen_.”

 

“I don’t think _that’s_ wise, either,” Bodhi said shortly. This time, Galen snorted.

 

“Oh, it’s _definitely_ not. But sometimes, one must live a little dangerously, to live at all.”

 

“Sounds like the fast-track to a broken heart,” Bodhi rejoindered glibly, only for Galen’s smile to falter.

 

“Well, speaking as someone who’s weathered his fair share of those . . . though I’ve regretted the _pain_ of having my heart broken, I’ve never regretted the people and circumstances that led up to the heart-break. In fact,” Galen said rather wistfully, “those _people and circumstances_ were some of the best times of my life. And if the price of having them was to afterwards suffer the inverse of the joy they brought to my life . . . it was well worth it.”

 

And Galen’s gaze was so meaningful, pointed, and direct, that Bodhi nearly asked if he, himself, was one of those people or circumstances for Galen . . . _nearly_. In the end, he merely sighed and looked down, despite the way it made his vision blur even more and the backs of his eyes sting dangerously.

 

“If Jyn wants me there,” he began, then stopped, swallowing around something that felt less like a frog and more like his own bruised, but beating heart, “if Jyn asks me to go with her and Cassian, tonight . . . I’ll be there.”

 

“Good,” was the immediate reply, and Bodhi risked a glance up. Galen’s smile was slight, but satisfied. “And if there’s one person I know, it’s Jyn. She _will_ ask.”

 

 _On her own? Or will you push the matter? And if so . . . why would you_ do that _, Galen? Why?_ Bodhi wanted to ask, but didn’t. He was fairly certain that no matter what the answer was, it’d fucking wreck him.

 

“Okay,” he finally said, turning away with a small wave. He then turned back, cutting a quick glance Galen’s way, but not lingering. And definitely _not_ meeting those mesmerizing eyes. “Okay. I’ll see ya, then.”

 

“See you, Bodhi. I hope,” Galen said, barely loud enough for Bodhi—who was already hurrying toward the elevator—to hear.

 

But he _did_ hear it.

 

#

 

By the time Bodhi made it back up to the second-floor apartment with his third and final load of laundry, he was tired, hot, sticky, and all he wanted was to collapse into bed after a nice, hot shower.

 

But fate had other plans, apparently, because when he let himself into the apartment again, Cassian was there, parked in front of the home entertainment center with _Mass Effect: Andromeda_ already loading.

 

He grinned when Bodhi came in, then waggled his eyebrows, nodding at the forty-two-inch television and PS4 that’d been his additions to the household when he'd moved in last year. “Ready to have your ass kicked again, Bodhi?”

 

Bodhi, whose ass had already had _enough_ done to it for one day, winced and hunched his shoulders, heading as swiftly toward his room with the full laundry basket as his sore, tired body would allow. “Uh, not today, Cass. Gotta, um, work on the project. Krennic’s making us keep a log of the hours we put in and a journal of how it’s going. I have to bring mine in to next class, too, so. . . .”

 

“You have to bring that damn log and journal in to _every_ class, Bodhi, and that’s never stopped you from playing _Andromeda_ with me, before,” Cassian said, quite reasonably, a frown in his low voice. Bodhi just shrugged and kept going until he was in his room, and leaning heavily against the shut door, blinking his stinging eyes.

 

A few minutes later, he was sitting on his bed, folding clothes absently, gingerly prodding at the mental wall behind which lay The Thing Which Would Never Again Be Spoken or Thought Of. Despite the wall, he was distracted and half-hard, the lingering ache and slightly stinging burn in his ass both annoying and arousing in equal measures. And every time he blinked, he saw a pair of hazel-grey eyes that seemed to flicker green and gray, depending on the light. . . .

 

There was a knock on his door and Bodhi jumped, dropping his retro _Life Cereal_ t-shirt. His heart was instantly going a million beats per hour and he took a moment to try and calm it before calling: “What?”

 

“It’s me, Bodhi,” Cassian said through the door, as if Bodhi might’ve thought it was Santa Claus. Bodhi rolled his eyes as the other man went on. “Is something the matter?”

 

“Everything’s fine!” Bodhi claimed, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard. “I’m just . . . tired! Gonna put away my laundry, shower, then take a nap . . . work on the project later!”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Silence. Then: “How was the drive to Las Cruces and back?”

 

Sighing, Bodhi resigned himself to an awkward, unwanted conversation held through a door. “ _Fine_ , Cassian. Traffic wasn’t too bad. And the flight was on time.”

 

“That’s good. . . .” Cassian trailed off slowly. “And how was Mr. Erso?”

 

Bodhi jumped as if he’d been shot, then fought to make his voice as casual and innocent as possible. “He was, um, fine. He’s at the hotel, now, uh . . . resting, I guess.”

 

“Excellent. Thank you for picking him up.” A loaded pause. Then: “Listen, Jyn and I are taking him to dinner this evening at the _Alkaliville Cantina_.”

 

“Good, that’s . . . that’s a nice place to grab some eats. Galen—uh, Professor Erso’ll probably like it. Good salad bar, and shit.” Bodhi didn’t realize that he had closed his eyes and was mentally peering through a small chink in the wall surrounding The Thing Which Would Never Again Be Spoken or Thought Of, until he had a flash of Galen’s face as it’d looked at the moment he’d come . . . ecstatic and agonized at the same time, eyes shut, teeth anchored in his lower lip as a low rumble burbled from his chest. . . .

 

“. . . Bodhi?”

 

Blinking, Bodhi came back to the present, realizing that Cassian had been saying his name for at least a minute with increasing worry.

 

“Bodhi . . . is everything okay?” he asked, then before Bodhi could bother to lie and say _yes_ , he went on: “Are you going to make me hold this entire conversation through your door?”

 

“Look, Cassian, I’m . . . not decent, and I’m tired and—my final project—”

 

“Bullshit.” Cassian’s voice was adamant and determined. “Something’s wrong and I’m _not_ going away until I’m satisfied that you’re alright.”

 

Standing up, Bodhi crossed the room and stopped, halfway to the door when he understood that, despite the fact that he and Cassian had grown close—as close as two such disparate personalities could _get_ , anyway . . . which was, surprisingly, _very_ ; Cassian was basically the older brother Bodhi had always wanted—there was no way he could tell _Jyn’s soon-to-be-husband_ that he, Bodhi, had had sex with Jyn's father.

 

Really _amazing_ , mind-blowing, psyche-rearranging sex.

 

No, this was one secret Bodhi would take to his grave, for the sake of his relationship with Jyn . . . and _Galen’s_ relationship with Jyn, as well. “I’m fine, Cassian, I just need some time to . . . to decompress, okay? Just, gimme a couple hours to process some stuff and I’ll be back to my old self.”

 

“So, there _is_ something that happened which needs processing,” Cassian said, displaying his usual uncanny incisiveness. Bodhi blanched, then blushed. “Normally, I wouldn’t pry, but I have a feeling that this time . . . you might need the benefit of a concerned, but objective ear.”

 

Bodhi huffed and refrained from snapping that considering his problem had to do with Cassian’s fiancée’s _father_ , he doubted Cassian could be objective. “Thanks, but no, thanks, Cass. I can handle this on my own. I don’t need advice or to talk.”

 

“I beg to differ.”

 

Bodhi drifted the rest of the way to the door and leaned his head on the cool wood. “I’m fine,” he insisted, unconvincingly even to his own ears. Upon closing his tired, stinging eyes, his whole universe became Galen’s amused, crooked half-smile and gray-green-brown eyes. “I’m fine.”

 

“Again: I beg to differ.”

 

Opening his eyes in sudden annoyance—more at himself than at Cassian, who only thought he was helping—Bodhi all but growled. “Christ— _fuck off_ , Andor! Jesus! We’re not best girlfriends, okay? You’re _my roommate’s fiancé_. You don’t have to coddle me every time I do something stupid and fuck my life up!”

 

Another silence. One so long, Bodhi began to think Cassian had taken himself off, either having been too offended to probe further or simply not _that_ interested in Bodhi’s private drama. So, he turned away from the door, meaning to shuffle back to his bed and finish folding his laundry. Then, he’d slip out of his room, take his shower, and take a nap before whatever calamity dinner with his one-afternoon-stand, said one-afternoon-stand’s daughter, and her almost-husband would bring.

 

But then Cassian spoke again.

 

“Tell me what happened with Galen Erso, Bodhi.”

 

Instantly frozen, half-turned away from the door, Bodhi’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets, they’d opened so wide. Slowly, on a neck that seemed to creak loud enough for Pennsylvania to hear, he turned his head toward the door.

 

“Why do you think something happened with Galen?” Bodhi asked through numb lips, his voice fainting and falling, high and whistling. “Why would you think that?”

 

“Because you were fine when you left the apartment, this morning and now you’re not.” Bodhi could almost hear Cassian’s dismissive shrug at his own impressive skills at observation and psychology—neither of which Bodhi was very good at. “And since you don’t fall prey to road-rage or driving-drama, I can only imagine that Galen Erso is the one who’s upset you.”

 

“I don’t even know the man,” Bodhi practically whispered it to the wood of the door, which he was once more leaning against. “I’m just the chauffeur.”

 

“Just the chauffeur,” Cassian parroted without inflection, which was an inflection in and of _itself_. Just not one Bodhi was prepared or equipped to parse. “Does being _just the chauffeur_ have anything to do with why you’re walking like you’re sore in an . . . unmentionable place? Is that giant hickey on your neck Mr. Erso’s version of a tip?”

 

Hand flown to the aforementioned hickey, Bodhi froze again, his body gone stiff and ice-cold all over at Cassian’s casual questions. Well, casually _worded_. Cassian’s _tone_ , however, held a steely sort of grimness and determination that always made Bodhi wonder who this unassuming man had _been_ , once upon a military career.

 

Because Cassian wouldn’t be put off. Bodhi knew him well enough to know _that_. The man was a wolf on the hunt when it came to getting the answers he wanted. And when it came to protecting the people he cared about.

 

The unexpected warmth that came with the thought that Cassian might _genuinely care_ about him thawed Bodhi’s chill stillness enough for him to speak. “I . . . I dunno what you’re talking about, Cass. Or what you’re trying to imply, but . . . I don’t think any of this would make Jyn very happy.”

 

“No, it wouldn’t,” Cassian once more agreed, still without much inflection or emotion. “What would make her even _less_ happy would be if her best friend and her fiancé kept from her the fact that her father coerced or outright _forced_ said best friend to perform sexual acts.”

 

“Cassian!” Bodhi was so shocked at the other man’s implication—or accusation—that he reached for the doorknob, ready to deny, deny, and lie. And give nosy Cassian Andor a piece of his mind, while he was at it.

 

He’d opened the door to do just that, before he realized that when it came to face-to-face lying and confrontations, he wasn’t much of a pro.

 

And sure enough, once Cassian got a look at his face, his _own_ face folded into a rather scary glower.

 

“Cassian, look—”

 

“Don’t bother lying anymore, Bodhi,” Cassian gritted out, his eyebrows doing that weird waggle again, but this time uncontrolled and angry. But that anger wasn’t directed at Bodhi, it was clear. “Tell me what he did to you.”

 

Groaning, Bodhi turned back into his room, heading for the bed. He flopped down on it, upsetting the basket with the last of his clothes, a pair of jeans, a pair of rainbow cargo shorts he’d gotten at Jedha Pride last year, and the blue, _Life Cereal_ t-shirt.

 

A moment later, the door to his room closed quietly. Another few moments after _that_ , Cassian was sitting next to Bodhi carefully.

 

“Nothing happened,” Bodhi tried to lie, one last time, knowing Cassian would neither buy the lie, nor let it be. And Cassian didn’t.

 

“Bullshit,” he said again. “You didn’t have that hickey when you left the apartment, this morning. You weren’t walking like every step is painful this morning.”

 

“This morning _was_ a lifetime ago,” Bodhi acknowledged with a sigh, closing his eyes. To that, Cassian had no immediate reply. “It was consensual, Cass. He didn’t . . . he didn’t _hurt_ me. At least . . . not in any way I didn’t _want_ him to. He was actually, um . . . really concerned about me, after . . . anyway. He’s a real nice guy—a gentleman, I swear, I just . . . I made a mistake. One I can’t take back even if I would. I’m the one who asked for it. I’m the one at fault.”

 

Now, _Cassian_ sighed, muttering: _Ai, ai, Bodhi, ai,_ like an old, exasperated _abuelita_. Then he patted Bodhi’s knee. “Tell me this mistake from the beginning.”

 

“ _Cass_. . . .”

 

“Tell me, or I’ll just assume the worst,” he promised, with hints of _and I’ll have to talk with Jyn about it, too._

 

So, Bodhi opened his eyes and looked over at the other man, who was watching him with that grim, focused scowl. But the hand on Bodhi’s knee was gentle and compassionate, as were Cassian’s soulful eyes.

 

There’d be no getting out of this. None, whatsoever. Not with Cassian on the scent and giving him the Puppy-Eyes of Great Compassion.

 

“Tell me, Bodhi. Just this once, we’ll be best girlfriends and get this off your chest, yes? And everything will be better, yes?”

 

Smiling unwillingly, Bodhi wiped at his once more stinging eyes, not surprised when his fingers came away wet. “All up in my business, Andor.”

 

“Apparently, I’m not the _only_ _one_ , Rook.”

 

Turning scarlet, Bodhi covered his eyes with his fabric softener-smelling hands for a few moments. “God. Too soon. Too soon.”

 

“I’m sorry, then,” Cassian said sincerely, removing his hand from Bodhi’s knee, only to yank Bodhi’s hand away from his eyes. He stared down at Bodhi sternly. “But that doesn’t mean _you’re_ off the hook. You’ll tell me _everything_ that happened and we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

 

“Cassian, I don’t—okay, _whatever_. Fine,” Bodhi said in a somewhat foggy voice, wilting under Cassian’s glare. He sniffed back against a suddenly runny nose for the second time in the same afternoon. But this time, instead of feeling like he was about to collapse into a puddle of tears and regret, he felt . . . strangely relieved. “Fine. If you’re gonna be all scary-Navy-Seal-badass- _abuelita_ about it, I guess I don’t gotta choice.”

 

“No, you _don’t_ gotta choice,” Cassian confirmed, but the grim set of his mouth eased a bit.

 

“Just . . . promise me you won’t tell Jyn.”

 

Cassian raised a wry eyebrow, as if to say, _I promise no such thing_ , and Bodhi heaved another sigh and looked away. “I fucking hate you.”

 

“The feeling is entirely mutual. Now, _start talking_ , Bodhi. And leave _nothing_ out.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting to your comments, should be there by Friday--would be tomorrow, but due to finances, my internet's off for the next two days--and I can't wait to read and answer them! I hope you guys are digging reading this as much as I am writing it <3
> 
> Come squee over Rogue One with me on [Tumblr](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	6. Hitting the Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. Fair warning: I'm aiming for a cool sixteen chapters, but it may be longer. Or I might turn this multi-chaptered piece into a series of stories.

**“I flew before I hit the ground,** ****  
and it was glorious.  
  
Don’t be sorry.  
The fall was beautiful, dear.  
The crash was beautiful.”   
―  **Charlotte Eriksson**

 

“You’re awfully quiet.”

 

Bodhi, sitting behind Jyn in the back seat of Death-Star, staring silently, dully out the window on which he’d leaned his head, didn’t bother to answer her observation. The silence in the car—awkward and complete, except for Jyn’s occasional worried whispers to Cassian, and Cassian’s careful quiet replies—was getting oppressive. Not that Bodhi noticed, or would have cared if he did.

 

Even with the brilliant sunset, the world seemed lowering and dark. Though, admittedly, some of that was probably his prescription sunglasses. They did a good job of playing bouncer of the club that was Bodhi’s sensitive eyes, and keeping out ruffian-loser sunlight.

 

Something like that.

 

Bodhi heaved a sigh and closed his eyes wearily. He was incredibly tired, having not gotten to take his power-nap after he showered. There’d been no time, really. He and Cassian had talked for almost three hours about The Thing ~~Which Would Never Again Be Spoken or Thought Of~~. Until Bodhi was exhausted with being upset and hurt and angry. Until he was even _crying_ a little . . . enough that Cassian had noticed Bodhi’s stuttered, shaking breaths when the quiet crying intensified, and had looked over to see Bodhi’s wet face and red, swollen eyes.

 

The other man’s silent support had helped a bit. But it’d also made Bodhi feel worse, for some reason. He kind of looked up to Cassian. Admired the man. To have someone he idolized see him crying over a guy that he’d been stupid enough to let in his pants without even vague promises of _more_ , well . . . it was more than a _little_ mortifying to Bodhi.

 

Then Jyn had come home, and Bodhi and Cassian had bolted up guiltily, the former pleading with his saddest eyes at the latter— _not_ a put-on—to keep his mouth shut about what he’d been told.

 

Cassian had given Bodhi a grim, considering look, then nodded once, unhappily—he clearly didn’t like keeping secrets from his fiancée, and he was a good man for that discomfort—but Bodhi could only feel _grateful_ for Cassian’s willingness to lie by omission.

 

When Cassian had gone to greet Jyn, Bodhi had jumped in the shower before Jyn could claim the bathroom—scrubbed away all evidence that he’d had anything approaching sex (and there was a lot)—then sat gingerly in front of his project, the lines of code swimming and dancing before teary, tired eyes. He’d stared blankly, unmoving, tears once more running from his eyes, until Jyn had knocked on his door, calling brightly for Bodhi to get dressed if he wanted to get a free dinner.

 

That’d been half an hour ago. Now, as Jyn pulled up to the standing zone in front of the _Ramada_ , Bodhi’s mouth pursed briefly, then he sighed and closed his eyes again. Even that mild relief from the lurid sunset spared his eyes somewhat, in a way that even the sunglasses couldn’t.

 

“Seriously, Bodhi, what on the Earth is wrong with you, tonight?” Jyn complained in a quiet hiss, as if not wanting someone to overhear. Bodhi cracked opened his eyes, himself hissing in annoyance at the light, then immediately closed them again. There was no one in the car beside the three of them. Galen wasn’t outside, yet, though there were other guests clearly waiting for _their_ rides, peering into the windows of Death-Star to see if their friends or family were behind the wheel of Jyn’s souped-up monster. “You’ve been moping since I got home! I thought a free meal at your favorite restaurant would make you your usual upbeat self, but clearly that’s not going to be happening!” Jyn huffed, then sighed, too. “Is something the matter? Is Krennic still riding you about your project?”

 

“Let him be, Jyn,” Cassian murmured, but Jyn hushed him.

 

“Look at me, darling,” Jyn said in her kindest, warmest, most impossible to resist voice. The one that made Bodhi think that she’d probably be a good _mom_ , and an even _better_ grandma . . . though he knew precious little about the requirements of either of those roles. He only knew that he was helpless but to obey that concerned tone, opening his eyes and meeting hers in the rearview mirror. His own felt irritated despite the efforts of his sunglasses. He’d known before leaving the apartment, from a glance in the mirror near the front door, that they were _markedly_ red and swollen.

 

He looked, in other words, like someone who’d spent all of an afternoon crying.

 

Which sucked, because he’d really only spent _one-third_ of an afternoon crying.

 

“Take off those silly things so I can see your pretty eyes, sweetheart,” Jyn commanded, but gently. The fact that she was using endearments meant she was genuinely worried about Bodhi, and he experienced a rush of feeling for her. If Cassian Andor was the big brother he’d always wanted, Jyn Erso was the big sister he’d never known he needed.

 

“Nah, they’re, uh . . . pretty irritated,” Bodhi said, which was true. “May just keep ‘em on all evening. The _Cantina’s_ got those bright lights over every table, and shit. . . .”

 

Jyn made a face—her _thwarted_ face—and pouted. “Well . . . we could go somewhere else . . . somewhere with dimmer lighting? Maybe _Maz’s_?”

 

“That fucking dive?” Cassian exclaimed, then snorted disdainfully. Both Bodhi and Jyn rolled their eyes. Cassian hated _Maz’s_ for some unknown reason—despite the fact that the place was . . . eclectic, but undeniably awesome, with its Nigerian-meets-Tex-Mex cuisine—even though both Jyn and Bodhi loved the place to pieces and often went there when time permitted. The only reason the _Cantina_ beat out Maz’s for Bodhi’s favorite restaurant was because their wings were spicier and they stocked the hard cider Bodhi loved. “I’d rather go to _McDonalds_.”

 

“Ugh, that name is _forbidden_ in this car,” Jyn declared, glaring at her fiancé, who shrugged.

 

“And yet you’ll happily go to that grungy little hole in the wall where that creepy little woman holds court like a mad dictator?” Now, Cassian was the one to huff in offense. Jyn smirked and raised an eyebrow at Bodhi in the rearview. Bodhi managed to smirk back. “It and she are a disgrace.”

 

“Oh, you’re just mad because she pinched your arse so hard that one time, it left a bruise for a week!” Jyn said, barely stifling her chuckles. Even Bodhi snickered a little. “Or perhaps you just don’t want to admit that Maz’s stolen your affections from me, and it’s _her_ you wish to elope with! If that’s the case, speak up, Cassian! You know I only want to see you happy and would wish you both the best in starting your new lives together!”

 

Cassian sent Jyn then Bodhi a jaundiced look, then glowered out the windshield.

 

“A disgrace,” he muttered, and Bodhi and Jyn laughed. Though Bodhi’s ended a bit prematurely when he glanced out the passenger side window and spied a familiar figure.

 

He instantly fell silent, his eyes wide behind his sunglasses. Jyn was still talking about Maz and Cassian eloping, but Cassian, noticing Bodhi’s laughter ending as suddenly as if his throat had been cut, was looking back at Bodhi, then following his gaze.

 

“Oh,” he said miserably, sounding a bit angry, too. Then he shook his head as Galen spotted Death-Star and waved. “Sweetheart, your father’s here.”

 

“Daddy!” Jyn instantly squealed, unbuckling her seatbelt and throwing the door open. She was out of the car and leaving said door open in less than a second, darting around the front of the Death-Star, heedless of traffic and other pedestrians as she made for Galen’s open arms and bright, fond smile.

 

She flung herself into the waiting embrace and he caught her, nearly half again her height, and picked her up, spinning her around. Both of them were laughing and so obviously glad to simply be together again. It made Bodhi smile, even as it made his chest ache like that thousand-pound weight was back with a five hundred-pound friend.

 

“Easy, Bodhi,” Cassian murmured, looking around and leaning toward Bodhi to place a hand on his knee. The contact helped snap Bodhi out of his unblinking focus on Galen and Jyn . . . though it was mostly on Galen. Bodhi took a hard-won breath that shook and caught, and Cassian squeezed his knee lightly. Then less so. “Breathe and remember that you can do this. For Jyn. But more importantly, for yourself.”

 

Bodhi nodded absently, staring at Galen once more. He and Jyn were talking—well, Jyn was gushing at her father a mile a moment, and Galen was smiling so big and happy and bemused . . . as if wondering how something so wonderful could possibly be a part of him.

 

The expression was so pure and sweet and genuine, it made Bodhi smile and that weight on his chest—on his _heart_ —increase exponentially. He didn’t even realize he was making a soft, miserable, whimpering moan till Cassian squeezed his knee almost painfully tight. Finally, Bodhi looked away from the family reunion and down at Cassian’s pale hand on the leg of his dark slacks.

 

“If you want, we could switch seats,” Cassian offered kindly, quietly. Bodhi shrugged and glanced back at Jyn and Galen. They were approaching Death-Star, arms around each other, grinning the same grin, hazel-grey eyes lit up like Christmas. Bodhi glanced away again. Out his window.

 

“What would that look like to Jyn and Ga—Professor Erso?” Bodhi snorted ruefully, staring after a silver Corvette that sped by, fire-bright in the last of the sunset. “Besides, it’s too late, now. They’re here.”

 

Cassian started to say something else, but what, Bodhi never found out, because Galen opened the back door of the car. Bodhi closed his eyes briefly, till the door had closed once more. A few moments later, Jyn was in the car and shutting _her_ door. She buckled her seatbelt as did Galen.

 

“You’ve met Bodhi, right?” Jyn said cheerily, her gaze in the rearview darting between them excitedly. Bodhi looked away, but not before he saw from the corner of his eye, Galen nodding once and glancing over at Bodhi.

 

“Yes, I have,” was the laconic reply and Bodhi smirked, hard and mirthless, out the window at a lady carrying a teacup poodle in an expensive-looking leather bag. The lady, who was waiting impatiently for traffic to slow so she could cross over to the hotel-side of Kyber Lane, didn’t notice the scarifying grin bent in her general direction. “He was very kind to pick me up from the airport and drive me to Jedha. Very kind, indeed.”

 

Flushing, Bodhi tried not to read anything extra into that statement. He simply bit his lip and resolved to look at Galen as infrequently as possible, given that they’d be sharing a dinner table for upwards of two or three hours.

 

“Of course, he was, Daddy. Bodhi’s the best,” Jyn said, sending a warm glance Bodhi’s way, then looking back at her father. “And this handsome, quiet gentleman is Cassian Andor . . . my fiancé.”

 

Cassian, who’d faced forward once more, glanced around at Bodhi for a moment, before turning a bit more fully to extend his hand to Galen. The older man took it without hesitation, his hand only slightly larger than Cassian’s.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Cassian,” Galen said easily.

 

“Ditto,” Cassian replied after a moment of hesitation. When Bodhi dared to look at the two men, it was to see Cassian regarding Galen over the back of the passenger seat with slightly narrowed eyes. His pale hand was rendered even paler by the grip he had on Galen’s hand. And Galen, for his part, looked nonplussed by such a firm handshake. “Jyn’s told me so much about you. So has Bodhi.”

 

Behind his dark glasses, Bodhi’s eyes widened in absolute horror and he turned a red so painful and hot, he was certain that it was visible even in the last red-orange wash of sunset. Then he was glaring at Cassian— _willing_ the other man to _feel_ said glare, since Cassian was still sending a dagger-glance Galen’s way.

 

“Er,” Galen said, his brow furrowing in confusion as Cassian suddenly let go and turned around without another word. Then Galen looked to Jyn—who was happily pulling into traffic with a squeal of tires—and at last to Bodhi, who quickly looked away again, into the blaring, biting sunset, teeth embedded in his lip once more to keep from saying anything at all.

 

#

 

“So,” Galen said once their server—a tall, strapping young man somewhere between Bodhi’s age and Cassian’s, with messy light-brown hair and mischievous light-brown eyes that had a tendency to dart to Bodhi and sometimes linger contemplatively, with unhidden interest—had brought four glasses of spring water, a basket of fresh, hot rolls, and menus. “Cassian . . . Jyn tells me you were, until recently, in the Navy.”

 

Cassian, stone-faced and grim, but respectful, nodded, taking a sip of his water. “Yes, sir.”

 

“What branch or division?”

 

“SEAL,” Cassian said blandly, without blinking. His normally kind gaze was flat and watchful. “I was the sniper of my team. _Not_ SEAL team six, if you were wondering. Nor was I ever stationed in Afghanistan. New Mexico is the only desert-caliphate I’ve ever been to.”

 

“Ah,” Galen said, seeming somewhat at a loss, as if Cassian’s clipped, but informative answer had robbed him entirely of relevant questions. For almost a minute, there was an awkward, distinctly uncomfortable silence at the large, square table. Then Jyn, between Bodhi and Cassian, brightened and sat up perkily.

 

“Now, Cassian is starting his own security firm with a friend of his who used to work at _Empire Satellite Solutions_ , not too long ago,” Jyn enthused, then winced. “ _Used to_ , Dads,” she added, but Galen was frowning at Cassian almost worriedly.

 

“ _Empire_ , eh?” he said flatly. “That’s some resume your friend must have. _Empire_ doesn’t hire just anyone. Or didn’t, back in my day.”

 

Cassian shrugged, taking a roll and his knife, applying the latter to the former. “Kei’s a smart guy. Meticulous. Probably the best hacker of his generation. His parents were two of the best of theirs, that’s for sure. Kei graduated from MIT with his doctorate at twenty. Revolutionized cyber security by the time he was twenty-five. Was running _Empire’s_ cyber security division a year later.”

 

Galen’s brows lifted. “Then why’d he leave?”

 

Cassian’s expression flickered from impassive to angry, then back again. “Let’s just say that he didn’t agree with _Empire’s_ use of . . . situational ethics. He signed on to protect and defend. Not to attack and prey upon. Kei considered corporate espionage to be . . . above even _his_ impressive pay-grade”

 

Galen shook his head. “Then he was, it sounds like, a man of conscience. And thus working at the wrong company. Good thing for him he realized it before he was in too deep.”

 

“It was a close thing,” Cassian agreed warily, taking a bite of his now buttered roll. Galen smiled a little and glanced at Bodhi, who hadn’t realized he was staring at the older man’s profile. Flustered, he looked away, blushing.

 

“You look . . . very well, Bodhi,” Galen said quietly, as if he and Bodhi hadn’t seen each other in a month of Sundays. As if they were the only ones at the table. Bodhi shrugged jerkily, his throat gone suddenly dry. He snatched up his water glass and drained half of it.

 

“Eh. I clean up alright for an engineering geek,” he mumbled, opening his menu then running a hand over his loose, wavy hair. For once, it was brushed and free, spilling down to mid-back, not pulled into a man-bun or an indifferent ponytail. He was also, unlike usual, dressed relatively well, in his job interview/date-wear of matching navy jacket and slacks over a black shirt with no tie— _that_ , he saved for job interviews—and a pair of shiny, fancy Chelsea boots that he’d only ever worn once, on that date with Jyn’s lawyer-friend.

 

He’d even shaved his face clean, which made him look about fifteen years old, but . . . he’d been getting sick of the scruff, anyway.

 

As he perused the menu with unseeing eyes, he was very aware of Galen’s eyes on him, intent and willing him to look up. “The Sriracha-Bleu Chicken wrap is really good,” Bodhi said faintly, shooting a desperate glance at Cassian, who was watching Galen. Jyn, seemingly oblivious, was also scanning _her_ menu, humming off-key and absently.

 

“Dads is like me: not a fan of spicy foods,” she said, smiling a bit wistfully. “Mum loved spicy foods, though. Remember that time she brought home those scotch bonnets? And made a chili with them?”

 

Galen chuckled, his gaze leaving Bodhi to settle on Jyn. Bodhi let out a relieved breath. “I remember. Nearly melted the lining of my stomach—how could I forget!”

 

“ _It’s only chili if it burns going in and coming out!_ ” Both Galen and Jyn said at the same time, in the same way, then they shared fond laughter and smiles. Bodhi and Cassian looked at each other curiously. Cassian shrugged and Bodhi looked back at his menu.

 

“You two would’ve loved Mum,” Jyn said when the laughter had tapered off, looking from Cassian, to Bodhi and back, her smile incandescent. “ _You_ , especially, Bodhi. I’ve never seen two people devour ridiculously spicy foods like the two of you. You’re both skinny, but eat twice your weight in food, in the course of a day! _And_ you’re both Nick Drake-obsessed work-a-holics.” Jyn snorted, but fondly. “You and she would’ve been fast friends, I’m certain. You share a lot of the same traits and have so much in common, it’s actually eerie. Have you noticed, Dads?”

 

For a moment, Bodhi froze and could tell that, next to him, Galen had done the same. Then they glanced guiltily at each other before Bodhi swallowed and looked determinately at the basket of rolls as if being very careful about selecting one. Galen, on the other hand, opened his menu with enviable ease.

 

“I think your mother and Bodhi would have got on very well, indeed,” Galen said with slightly weary serenity, once more not quite answering a direct question. But Jyn, for all that she was sharp and incisive of mind, cunning and occasionally surprisingly _sneaky_ . . . she seemed to turn into an excited, trusting child around her father. “They would’ve found each other to be kindred spirits, I have no doubt. With similar interests.”

 

“Similar interests . . . no doubt,” Cassian said dryly, eyes on his own menu, now. Then he grunted softly when Bodhi kicked him in the shin. Bodhi, however, managed to keep his face pleasantly neutral, in spite of everyone’s eyes on him.

 

Just then the strapping server with the admiring eyes appeared at Bodhi’s elbow like a sexy phantom, his order-pad at the ready.

 

#

 

“. . . so, there we are, less than a week before the wedding, and I accidentally let slip that I don’t know how to slow-dance. So, of course, Charles is absolutely scandalized—refuses to stand by and let me wreck the reception by trampling my soon-to-be bride’s feet! And off-tempo, no less,” Galen added, chuckling and shrugging. “He takes it upon himself to teach me to do a box step. It . . . doesn’t go so well.”

 

“Understatement of the _year_! I’ve seen the video!” Jyn exclaimed, laughing. She was beautiful, bubbly, bright, and having the time of her life. She’d said as much, also adding that it was because three of her favorite men were all in the same place and getting along so well.

 

At this, Bodhi, Galen, and Cassian had shared a complicated glance, but said nothing to disillusion the woman they all loved.

 

Now, while nomming happily on her Cesar salad, she paused to elaborate: “Uncle Art shows me that video _every time I visit_ , since I was seven years old. Dads utterly _massacres_ Uncle Charles’s poor feet! Near the end of the video, Uncle Charles actually drops an F-bomb and shoves Dads so hard, he falls on his arse—and Uncle Art, who’s filming the whole mess, can’t stop laughing. The camera’s _shaking_ , he’s laughing so hard!”

 

“It really wasn’t all _that_ funny,” Galen inserted when Jyn, herself, couldn’t speak for laughing. He, too, seemed to be fighting a laugh, his eyes bright with mirth, his lips twitching in a way that made Bodhi want to sigh. “Especially considering that I fractured poor Charles’s foot so bad, he had to wear a cast for a month and, himself, couldn’t dance at the reception. At which, it was decided for the sake of Lyra’s feet, and our newly-wedded status, the first dance would be the Macarena.”

 

At this, everyone, even Bodhi, laughed heartily, and heads turned to watch and wonder and envy the obviously happy companions in their midst.

 

“I do a mean Macarena,” Galen added with a touch of faux-defensiveness, but his lips were still twitching. “Lyra was _horrible_ at it, though. No rhythm.”

 

“There’s video-proof of that, too, darling. Which is why you and I will _not_ be dancing at our little reception-party when we get back from City Hall. Between Daddy’s clumsy genes _and_ Mum’s, I’m afraid I might _kill_ you,” Jyn said apologetically, leaning over to buss Cassian’s cheek. Cassian smiled a little.

 

“Eh. I’m pretty tough to kill,” he said quietly, then covered Jyn’s hand with his own for a few moments before turning to Galen, his formerly wary consideration of the man leavened, now, with grudging acceptance. “And I, too, do a mean Macarena. I’ve been told my samba and salsa are passable, too.”

 

Galen, digging into his poached salmon, smiled. “The only dance I can reliably do, without killing myself or others—besides the Macarena—is the Electric Slide.”

 

“Oh, really?” Bodhi found himself saying, smirking, halting his methodical decimation of his chicken and jalapeno quesadilla to cast an assessing look Galen’s way. “You’ve got _Electric Slide_ -moves, huh, Professor?”

 

Galen’s head tilted demurely. “Moderate ones, but yes. I came of age in the eighties, after all. It was practically a requirement.”

 

Pleased, Bodhi’s smirk turned into a lazy smile. “You’ll have to show me your moves, sometime.”

 

Returning the smile with a gaze that flickered and pierced, Galen gave Bodhi a quick, but not unnoticed once-over. “I’d love to show you my moves. Just say the word.”

 

“The word,” Bodhi immediately replied, red-faced and not remotely sure they were even talking about dancing anymore . . . if ever they had been. He could feel Jyn’s curious eyes on them and Cassian’s disapproving ones and tried to reign in the flirting and possible eye-fucking that seemed to be happening in public between himself and Galen Erso. “Um. I mean. I’m always, you know, trying to learn and pick up shit from other dancers, y’know? It’s how I improve.”

 

“You dance?” Galen’s brows lifted slightly, but the flicker and flare of unhidden, not-at-all-platonic interest in those arresting, green-glinting eyes only seemed more intense for Bodhi’s attempt at deflection.

 

“Um. A little.” Bodhi shrugged, looking back down at his quesadilla. Jyn snorted.

 

“Don’t listen to him, Dads, he’s being _stupidly_ modest. Bodhi’s a trained tap-dancer!” she said sweetly, ignoring the glare Bodhi sent her way. “I’ve seen the awards and trophies. He must’ve been quite good. _Amazing_ , really, just based on what I’ve seen him do when we go clubbing or to _Maz’s_.” Shaking her head, Jyn shared an amused glance with Cassian. “Clumsiest man I’ve ever seen, except when he’s dancing.”

 

“Shut up, Jyn,” Bodhi grumbled, blushing under the regard of all his table-mates. But Galen’s was the only one that made him feel hot-under-the-collar.

 

“Tapdancing is quite an impressive skill,” the older man said, his voice warm and his gaze all but begging Bodhi to look up and to his left. Bodhi did no such thing, but it was a close call.

 

“It’s a geek-sport. It’s not _cool_ , like modern dance or revered like _ballet_. It’s just . . . what it is.” Bodhi shrugged again, brushing a ticklish trailer of hair out of his face. It, of course, immediately fell back because his hair was as inconvenient and ill-timed as everything _else_ about him.

 

But before he could reach up to brush it away again, Galen was there, not only brushing the trailer back, but tucking it behind Bodhi’s ear, the gentle drift of his callused fingertips across Bodhi’s check, then his auricle causing Bodhi to shiver minutely. Jyn and Cassian hopefully didn’t notice, but Galen, whose touch lingered for decidedly too long, surely did.

 

Then, those fingers were gone, but Bodhi didn’t dare look at the other man . . . for fear that everything he was trying his hardest not to feel would be in his eyes.

 

He wished he’d followed through and kept his sunglasses on, instead of removing them upon entering the restaurant. But his eyes had felt better and a quick survey of them in Jyn’s side-mirror had shown they weren’t as red and swollen and . . . weepy-looking as they had been an hour prior.

 

So, Bodhi had taken his glasses off and hadn’t regretted it until this moment.

 

He prodded at his quesadilla with his fork while Galen sipped his water. Cassian was scowling his continued disapproval at Galen, while Jyn just looked completely confused and out-of-the-loop. Her eyes ticked between her father and her best friend as if she was trying to put puzzle pieces together.

 

And though Jyn was, apparently, unusually slow on the uptake where her father was involved, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t eventually start connecting dots. Especially if Bodhi kept either avoiding or courting Galen’s intense gazes and Galen kept . . . touching Bodhi in affectionate, but decidedly _not_ platonic ways.

 

And if Jyn twigged—and also realized that the three people she so loved had kept something from her, even though that something wasn’t (technically) any of her business—she’d likely blow a gasket and disown all of them. Well, briefly, anyway. Though maybe not so briefly in Bodhi’s case.

 

Because, she’d probably get over her anger at Galen for letting himself be seduced and give in to the wiles—such as they were—of one of her friends. Even if that friend was _male_. She’d likely even forgive Cassian for keeping it secret from her, because in _Cassian’s_ eyes, it wasn’t his secret to _tell_. But Bodhi? No, she’d never forgive him. Not when he was, it was clear, the most culpable of the three of them: both seducer _and_ secret-keeper.

 

A calamity on two legs.

 

One that was shortly to be outcast if he couldn’t keep himself in check and under control. . . .

 

 _I just have to do this for however long Galen’s here. Another five, six days, tops, right? Right?_ Bodhi asked himself, his face heating and a vein in his temple throbbing like he was about to have a stroke or something. _Can’t be more than that, right? Jyn and Cassian go on their honeymoon in just under two weeks, and . . . but then, Galen brought an awful lot of luggage for a week-long stay. What if he means to stay till they go on their honeymoon? Or . . . or for longer?_

_I can’t do this if he’s going to be in my face for_ weeks _! Jyn’s going to figure it out any minute, now, with the way we’re acting around each other! And when she does . . . when she_ does _, I’m likely to be out a roommate_ and _a best friend._

 

Suddenly scraping his chair back and all but jumping to his feet, Bodhi muttered something about taking a leak and stalked away from the table, feeling all their eyes following him as he made his way toward the restrooms.

 

Once he turned the corner, down the discreet hallway, he bolted. _Past_ the restrooms, the **_EMPLOYEES ONLY_** area he’d always suspected was a break-room, and the code-locked door to the cellar, toward the back exit. He needed some space. Some _air_. Even if the exit lead into a garbage-packed alley, it’d be clearer than the air back at the table where he could barely draw breath, and when he could, all he could smell was Galen’s now familiar and hauntingly enticing scent.

 

Bodhi burst out the back door and—several steps into what appeared to be an impromptu smoking area, with its discarded cigarette butts in a bucket and all over the ground—collided with a solid body dressed in black and white, with a few inches on him. About Galen’s height, or a bit taller.

 

“Hey, hey . . . slow down, Speed Racer,” a low, laughing voice said as strong, iron-gripped hands caught Bodhi’s biceps, and stopped both their owner and Bodhi from toppling to the ground. “Where’s the fire?”

 

“Sorry, I—sorry!” Bodhi said anxiously, completely mortified. He found himself looking into the black of a bowtie, and tilted his head up a bit. Light-brown eyes in a handsome, smirking face met his own and Bodhi blushed, and apologized profusely to his erstwhile server.

 

“Hey-hey, it’s not a problem, gorgeous. Happens to the best of us,” the server said and Bodhi, blushing and biting his lip to halt his seemingly endless apologies, glanced down and away from those amused eyes. He wound up staring into the deep, obscure depths of the server’s nametag, which he hadn’t noted before. “You alright?”

 

“Sure—yeah, I’m . . . I’m copacetic, uh,” Bodhi glanced at the server’s nametag again. “I’m fine, Hans.”

 

The server winced and rolled his eyes. “Well, good. But that’s not my name. They got the damn nametag wrong and the manager, Jack-fucking-Greedo, is too damn cheap to get me one with the _right_ name on it.” He sighed and shook his head. “I can’t believe I work in this shit-hole, sometimes.”

 

To that, Bodhi didn’t know what to say, really. Other than meeting the server’s eyes again and smiling a commiserating smile. The server smiled back, looking a bit gobsmacked for a scant moment before the expression was subsumed by a knowingly charming one.

 

“Though, at the moment, I’m not exactly unhappy that I work here. Or at least that I’m on-shift, tonight,” he added, throaty-voiced and flirty. Bodhi blushed and looked away again. He realized the server was still gripping his biceps without showing any signs of letting go. It didn’t feel terrible.

 

“Um,” Bodhi began and the server smiled, charming and wry, his eyes lively even in the dimly-lit alley. His thumbs stroked Bodhi’s biceps calmingly.

 

“Anyway, doll-face, the handle—the _correct_ _handle_ —is _Han_. Han Solo. What’s yours?”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah-ha! Surprised ya, didn't I?  
> ::blinks::  
> ::hears crickets::
> 
> Well, whatever.
> 
> Come see me on [Tumblr](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	7. Four Thousand Fathoms and Forty Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. Drug use in this chapter.

**“You're just as dead if you fall from forty feet as you are from four thousand fathoms, that's what I say.”** **  
―** **Terry Pratchett**

 

Bodhi blinked at the too-knowing, too-charming grin and frowned. “ _Nunya_ is my first name,” he said, shrugging Han Solo’s hands off his arms. “I’m sure you can guess my _last_.”

 

That grin widened, showing off even teeth and making attractive laugh-lines. Solo put his hands on his hips and, arms akimbo, gave Bodhi another assessing once-over that left the younger man blushing, but scowling.

 

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got pretty eyes? Especially when you scowl so ferociously at a compliment?”

 

“ _Everyone_ tells me that,” Bodhi said flatly, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow. At this, Solo actually laughed, full-bodied and long, his head tipped back. Laughed until Bodhi’s annoyance and offense turned to mere exasperation . . . then an almost-amused rolling of his “pretty” eyes. “It’s not _that_ funny, Mr. Solo.”

 

“It kinda _is_ , sweetheart,” Solo said, between a last few chuckles, grinning at Bodhi with a more genuine smile than the other one. This one, like _Galen’s_ smile, was crooked, and endearing because of it. “It’s a real gas.”

 

“My name’s not _sweetheart_.”

 

“Well, I haveta call ya _somethin’_ , right? Since you won’t tell me your name,” Solo said reasonably enough. But Bodhi nonetheless scoffed.

 

“No, you don’t. Calling me anything _at all_ implies that you and I have a relationship beyond you asking me if everything is to my liking and refilling my water glass.”

 

“Oooh! Pretty _and_ snarky!” Solo exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest. “Be still, my beating heart.”

 

“Don’t tempt the universe,” Bodhi huffed, turning to go back inside, but Solo stopped him with a light hand on his elbow. Bodhi pointedly gave the other man a look and Solo let go, holding up his hands as if in surrender.

 

“Look, I don’t mean any harm, pal, I’m just an asshole, is all. Ignore me.”

 

“I was planning to.” Bodhi turned to go back inside once more.

 

“Only, the thing is, you seem like a man who could use some stress-relief. Have since the moment you walked into this dump,” Solo said and Bodhi froze because . . . this guy _couldn’t_ be suggesting what Bodhi _thought_ he was suggesting . . . could he?

 

Looking over his shoulder, he was quite stunned to see Solo holding up a small joint and a _Heinekin_ -green Bic that said _HIGH-AGAIN_. Solo waggled both, and his grin turned a bit daffy and entirely too charming. _For-real_ charming.

 

“I don’t suppose you get high, huh, pretty-eyes?” he asked hopefully.

 

Bodhi’s mouth dropped open in pure shock.

 

#

 

“So,” Solo—‘call me _Han_ , baby,’—said after they’d passed the joint back and forth a couple times. Bodhi could already feel a sweet, semi-sleepy lassitude stealing over him, sanding down his edges and mellowing out his nerves.

 

Whatever was in Han’s shit, it was good stuff. _Very_ good stuff.

 

“It’s that old guy, isn’t it?”

 

Blinking, slow and confused, Bodhi looked over at Han to see the other man watching him with amused curiosity. “Whah? Old guy?”

 

“The reason you’re so stressed and unhappy. It’s the GQ-lookin’ guy with the fancy accent?”

 

Bodhi’s anxiety cranked back up just a bit. “That’s _also_ under the heading of _Nunya_ _Damn_ _Business_ , Mr. Solo.”

 

“Ah, c’mon, precious, we’re sharin’ some herb, that’s gotta entitle me to a _few_ answered questions. Or at least a name,” Solo said, all friendly reason, once more. Bodhi made a petulant noise and accepted the joint when Solo held it out to him.

 

“Fine. If I tell you my name, will you stop calling me _precious_ and _pretty-eyes_?”

 

“I’m more likely to stop if I have a proper name, yeah.”

 

Bodhi rolled his eyes again. “Fine. My name’s _Bodhidharma Nasir_ ,” he said, then frowned. “Whoops!”

 

Solo’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes twinkled merrily. “Bodhidharma Nasir Whoops? That’s, uh . . . that’s an interesting name. I’d’ve guessed _Kevin_. Or maybe _Alan_.”

 

Bodhi giggled—straight-up _giggled_ —and covered his mouth to keep in those giggles and the fragrant smoke that was doing its best to wrap around his sleepy, happy brain. “No-no-no. My name is _Bodhi Rook_. Because she adopted me. But before she did, I was _Bodhidharma Nasir_. But I didn’t wanna be _Bodhidharma Nasir_ , anymore.” A beat. “No _whoops_.”

 

“Ah,” Solo said sagely, and as if any of what Bodhi had said made sense. “Well, pleased to meet ya, Bodhi Rook. May I inquire as to what a cute college-nerd like you is doing in a disreputable shit-heap establishment like the _Cantina_?”

 

“Good wings,” was Bodhi’s immediate answer, and Solo snorted.

 

“Eh. I suppose. I think _Maz’s_ are better. And Maz is good people. Feisty ol’ dame.”

 

Bodhi laughed. “She pinched my friend’s ass so hard, she left a bruise!”

 

Solo joined him in laughing once more, heartily. “Yeah . . . Maz’ll do that. My friend Chewie—he’s the big guy . . . seven-five if he’s an inch? In and out of the kitchen? Built like a bear, and twice as hairy?”

 

“Eh.” Bodhi shrugged. He couldn’t recall if he’d seen anyone like that or not, since arriving. Most of his attention had been so focused on Galen, that the _Headless Horseman_ could’ve been tending bar and he wouldn’t have noticed.

 

“Well, Chewie won’t even come with me to _Maz’s_ , anymore, because she’s always sexually harassing him and trying grab his—hey, you can let the smoke out anytime, now, kitten. I think you’ve gotten all the mileage outta that puff that you’re _gonna_ get.”

 

“Hmm,” Bodhi sighed out, along with two lungsful of smoke, like a ponderous dragon. Across from him, Solo smirked, and it was practically a leer.

 

“I gotta say, though: I’m digging that impressive lung-capacity.”

 

“Ew. Don’t be crass,” Bodhi said haughtily. _Galen_ wasn’t crass.

 

Just a jackass.

 

“Hey, that rhymes,” he mused aloud. Solo frowned a little.

 

“Nah, it doesn’t.”

 

“Totally does,” Bodhi insisted, accepting the joint from Solo and taking another slow, deep hit. This was the most relaxed he’d been in. . . .

 

“If you say so, doll.” Solo shrugged and smirked again. “So, besides the so-so wings, what’s a pretty, young thing like you doing at a fogey-spot like the _Cantina_?”

 

“Meh. My best friend and her fiancé are getting married on Monday. Her father just arrived in town for the elopement and we’re all out to dinner like happy family,” Bodhi said with sarcastic brightness, then hissed as the last of the joint burned his fingertips. He quickly passed it to Solo, or tried to. The other man waved him away, saying: _go ahead, finish it_ , and shoved his free hands in the pockets of his slightly wrinkled black slacks. Bodhi shrugged and expertly handled the joint to maximize the last little puffs before dropping the miniscule butt and stubbing it out. He held in the smoke until Solo’s smirk faded and his eyes widened.

 

“Oh, _baby_ ,” he breathed, grinning rather lecherously. Bodhi was the one to smirk, now, and slowly blow out smoke in a thin plume while holding Solo’s interested gaze. The rumpled server suddenly laughed, seeming to be genuinely delighted. “How’d I ever take _you_ for a neophyte?”

 

Bodhi’s brows drifted slowly toward his hairline. “ _Neophyte_ , huh? Pretty big word for a scruffy entrée-jockey, such as yourself.”

 

“And _that’s_ a pretty classist sentiment for a bright-eyed, young egalitarian, such as _your_ self,” Solo retorted, but seemingly without having taken offense. Bodhi blushed anyway, and remembered his manners. And that Miranda hadn’t raised him to be a snob.

 

“Yeah, I guess it was. Sorry,” he offered sincerely, rightly humbling himself.

 

“You don’t have to apologize.” Solo shrugged, still smiling. Bodhi squared his shoulders and humbled himself a bit more.

 

“Kinda do, Mr. Solo. You’ve been . . . very hospitable and I just insulted you for being smarter than some dumb, middle-class college kid thinks you’re supposed to be. I think for that, I owe you a _big_ apology.”

 

Solo seemed . . . surprised, to say the least, and that surprised expression, free of smirk or charm or self-assurance, made him a good deal handsomer than Bodhi was prepared for.

 

“Huh,” Solo said, then smiled again. The _for-real_ one, that made his eyes twinkle in the jaundiced yellow light of the **EXIT** sign above the door. “Apology accepted. On one condition.”

 

“I’m listening.”

 

A playful, boyish grin made Bodhi downwardly revise his estimate of Solo’s age. He was _definitely_ closer to Bodhi’s and Jyn’s age, than to Cassian’s. “Call me _Han_.”

 

Bodhi barked a wry, short laugh. “I don’t think so, _Mr. Solo_. I’ve already gotten my ass in a sling by calling a charming, hot older guy by his first name once, today. I think I won’t press my luck.”

 

“Ah, I was _right_! It _was_ that GQ-asshole in the Armani-wear!”

 

“Gold star for you, then, Mr. Solo.”

 

The man seemed inordinately, intolerably pleased with himself. Then he blinked. “Wait— _you_ think _I’m_ charming and hot?”

 

Bodhi, defensive and suddenly quite miserable again, shrugged twitchily. “I _have eyes_ , y’know.”

 

Smirking yet again, Solo took a step closer to Bodhi. “You think I’m charming _and_ hot,” he said, smug and somehow _dorky_.

 

He was _completely_ intolerable.

 

“Apparently not as charming and hot as _you_ think you are.” Bodhi sniffed, leaning against the wall to the right of the exit. The world was revolving slowly and his brain was going with it. He needed something a bit more stable than his own sense of balance.

 

Solo moved a few steps closer, so that he was officially in Bodhi’s personal space, all overblown-charm and leering smirk. “So, if you think I’m so charming and hot . . . what’re you gonna _do_ about it, gorgeous?”

 

For a minute, Bodhi could only gape at such a blunt come-on. Then he was scoffing again. “Well. I’m not gonna get on my knees for you, if that’s what you’re suggesting, Mr. Solo.”

 

“Ah, sugar, I wouldn’t _be_ so forward! At least not right off the bat,” Solo added, shrugging. Bodhi could only shake his head in disbelief and dismay. Very few people had _ever_ come-on to him—those few, within the past two and a half years or so, since his final growth-spurt. And when they did, they tended to be subtler about it. Closer to the Galen-end of the spectrum than the Solo-end. . . .

 

But in the meantime, Solo was leaning closer and closer, as if he was about to try and _kiss_ Bodhi, who put his hands on Solo’s chest and shoved the man back a few steps.

 

“Back off, horn-dog!” he snapped, glaring up into Solo’s dancing eyes. It was almost another minute of smirking, somehow _crackling_ eye-contact before he realized he still had his hands splayed on Solo’s broad, hard chest. When he _did_ realize, he pulled his hands away as if he’d been burned, his face flushed and hot. Partially with incredulous outrage. “God, what _is it_ with guys, all of a sudden tryin’ to get a piece of me? Since when am _I_ the guy that guys _have_ to have?!”

 

Stepping back into Bodhi’s space, Solo gave him another lingering once-over. “My guess’d be for however long you’ve had those Bollywood-eyes and that lean, mean, sex-machine body,” was his rumbling reply.

 

Shaking his head once more, Bodhi looked down, suddenly feeling lost and directionless. “I look like I’ve _always_ looked. I haven’t changed. It’s everyone _around_ _me_ that’s changed. _Changing_. Jyn’s gonna be a _wife_ and eventually a mom. Cass’s gonna be her _husband_! Someone’s _dad_ , someday! And _Galen_ —” Bodhi stopped speaking, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He didn’t even resist when Solo reached out and tipped his face back up by the chin. The other man’s light-brown eyes were measuring and sympathetic.

 

“He dump ya?”

 

Sniffling, eyes stinging again, Bodhi nodded, totally not surprised when a tear ran down his cheek. “Yeah. Sorta. Yeah.”

 

Solo grunted and made a commiserating face. “That’s some bad business. Man’d have to be downright _loco_ to dump a sweetheart like you.”

 

Bodhi smiled, though it felt about as real as a Beverly Hills boob-job. “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. Solo. But you don’t know anything about me, other than you like my eyes.”

 

“Oh, there’re some other bits I like, too,” Solo countered mildly and Bodhi couldn’t help the snicker that escaped him. It made Solo smile wider. “And you’re _stunning_ when you laugh. When you _smile_ and when you _laugh_. Between that, and those big, dark eyes and that smart, gorgeous mouth, you’re the epitome of my Achilles heel, Bodhi Rook.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Blushing, Bodhi turned his face just enough that Solo got the hint and let his fingers fall away. “Too bad you’re the only one who seems to feel that way.”

 

“I guarantee you I’m not.” Solo snorted. “Judging by the way that chick’s father looks at you, he’s still got _some_ kinda feelings for you, no matter who did the dumping.”

 

“Again, that’s nice of you to say, but—”

 

“Oh, _darlin’_ ,” Solo said, chuckling dryly. “I’m a _lotta_ things, but _nice_ ain’t one of ‘em. I’m an asshole and a sonuvabitch— _not_ the kinda guy that gets brought home to meet the family. I’ve got a vested interest in you not patchin’ things up with Mr. GQ. But even _I’m_ not dickish enough to let you keep downin’ yourself over a guy who _clearly_ isn’t worth it.”

 

Bodhi sighed. “You don’t know him, Sol— _Han_. He’s, like, the smartest, funniest, coolest guy. And he’s so handsome it makes my brain ache. And I want him _so much_ —want him to _want me back_ so much—that it feels like I’m gonna _die_ if I can’t get those things, and—and . . . does it always _feel_ like this? Does it _always_ hurt this bad?” he asked, blinking up at Han. The taller man sighed.

 

“What? Love?”

 

Startled, Bodhi gasped. “I—it’s _not_ —I mean . . . it _can’t_ be love! We _just met_! What I meant was, does _wanting someone_ always feel like this? Like he’s under my skin, and in my bones and blood so inextricably I’ll never get him out? Because I’ve _never_ wanted a _specific person_ like this, before. Never. . . .” shaking his head, Bodhi wiped away a few more tears. “I never wanted anybody _bad enough_ to . . . you know . . . _let_ them . . . _you know_ . . . before I met Galen. And it was . . . _amazing_. The best thing that’s _ever_ happened to me. I’d be happy doing nothing else for the rest of my life than warming his bed, so . . . why doesn’t _Galen_ feel the same way?”

 

Bodhi looked up into Han’s kind, commiserative eyes and the other man sighed again, looking down for a few moments.

 

“I wish I had an answer for ya, Bodhi. Someone I cared about very much once asked me a similar question. About why I couldn’t— _didn’t_ —feel the same way about what was between us as she did. And I gave her some glib, bullshit answer, and. . . .”

 

“And?”

 

Han shrugged and put a little more space between himself and Bodhi. “ _And_ , she packed up her stuff and our kid, and left me. I got the divorce papers in the mail a week later.”

 

Bodhi gaped for a few seconds, then closed his mouth. This time, he was the one to step closer to Han, placing a careful hand on his arm.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Bodhi said softly. “I can’t imagine the pain you must’ve—must _still be_ feeling.”

 

Han looked down at the square, gentle hand on his bicep and smiled bitterly. “Ah, I deserved it. Leia and Ben are better off now—she’s, uh . . . she’s shacked up with this professor at the college for the past nine months, and—” he laughed, as bitter as his smile. “That lady’s got bigger balls than me _and_ every guy in this county put together, and . . . she _loves_ Leia and Ben. _Really_ _loves_ them. And she’s a better role model for Ben, too. Even _I_ don’t want my son growin’ up to be like _me_.”

 

Bodhi didn’t know what to say to that, so instead of speaking, he stepped into Han’s personal space, bobbing up on his toes and hugging the startled man tight for a few seconds, arms flung around Han’s neck, cheek pressed to Han’s stubbly one.

 

After a few seconds, Han’s arms slowly wound around Bodhi’s waist, clinching him just as tight. And they stood like that, Bodhi running a soothing hand up and down Han’s messy nape, Han . . . merely breathing softly in Bodhi’s ear. It was a good several minutes before the hug went from comforting, to something else entirely. Something as awkward as it was . . . surprisingly exhilarating to Bodhi.

 

“Heyya, Bodhi?”

 

“Yeah, Han?”

 

“If I, uh . . . if I said you had a nice body, would you hold it against me?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Bodhi shoved himself away from Han, but not very far. The other man’s arms were still around Bodhi’s waist and Bodhi’s hands were now resting on Han’s broad shoulders. Han was smirking, but wryly and Bodhi rolled his eyes, his own lips trying to twitch into a smile he could barely repress.

 

“Asshole,” he said, and Han laughed, his hands sliding down to rest on Bodhi’s narrow hips. “You couldn’t just let the moment end gracefully, like a normal person?”

 

“‘Course not.” Han grinned wide and mischievous. “ _Normal_ ain’t my style, doll.”

 

“Why’m I not surprised?” Bodhi rolled his eyes again, then finally chuckled. “It must be my lot in life to only draw complete jackasses to me.”

 

“Hey, we all have our crosses to bear,” Han agreed in a low, intimate murmur that precursored the gentle urging of his hands on Bodhi’s hips. Bodhi let himself be tugged closer, to the widening of Han’s grin, until he was flush against the server’s muscular, defined body and staring up into warm eyes which shone like golden louvres in the dim lighting.

 

“Your break had to’ve been over, like, fifteen minutes ago, at least,” Bodhi noted. Han’s grin morphed into that crooked, devil-may-care smirk yet again.

 

“Now, ask me if I give a slippery shit.”

 

“Don’t go blaming me when you get written up,” Bodhi admonished as one of them—or maybe both of them—leaned in. “Or fired.”

 

“Jabba and Greedo can take this job and shove it up their respective asses. Chewie an’ I been needin’ a change of venue, anyway,” Han claimed, just as Bodhi’s eyes shut and their lips met.

 

A minute later, they broke the kiss by mutual, but unspoken agreement, Bodhi laughing and Han swearing in frustration and exasperation. Though he looked like he was fighting a smile, much as Bodhi had done.

 

“Okay, that was. . . .”

 

“ _Terrible_ ,” Bodhi finished for him, snickering a little. “I mean, your technique was great—like, oh, my _God!_ Good amount of tongue, not too much spit, and your lips were—unf! But for some reason. . . .”

 

“It was like kissing a really sexy mannequin,” _Han_ finished. Bodhi snorted.

 

“Not the way I woulda put it, but, _yeah_. Everything was _there_ and right . . . except for the fireworks.”

 

“Yeah. I mean, _you’re_ great, Bodhi. Fine as fuck, funny, and I like the way you kiss, it’s just . . . there’s no pipeline from your lips to my dick, if I may be so blunt.” Han shrugged and Bodhi blushed, but could only nod in agreement. “Never had anything like this happen to me, before. Can’t figure out wh—say, you pitch or catch?”

 

Remembering how good it’d felt to have Galen inside him—even just the man’s fingers—taking him, possessing him, making him _love_ every _moment_ of it, Bodhi turned bright red and mumbled his answer while staring at Han’s bowtie. “Um. Pretty sure I _catch_. Uh. Do _you pitch_?”

 

“Exclusively,” Han replied. “So, it’s not that we’re sexually incompatible—we find each other hot and we’re not both vying for the same role. Weirdest damned thing.”

 

“Mm. Indeed.” Bodhi pouted a bit, both chagrined and put-out. Unbidden, his mind indulged in graphic images of Galen, looking fucked-out, cock still in hand, shoulders slightly slumped as he tried to catch his breath, and recreated the unique, addictive, rough-full-burn of Galen’s fingers inside him, twisting and scissoring, searching and _finding_. . . .

 

Thus, Bodhi didn’t even realize he’d closed his eyes until Han’s fingers, callused at the tips like Galen’s, rough-gentle, brushed his cheek, and he shivered, instinctively leaning in closer to Han, who made a soft, hungry sound. A moment later, soft lips but an insistent mouth were covering Bodhi’s, and he surged up into the kiss needily, his body running hot and fast with those images and memories of Galen to fuel it. His arms slid around Han’s neck in an almost-chokehold and he yanked the taller man closer, the startled _oooph!_ that occasioned smothered by Bodhi’s hard, frantic, devouring kiss.

 

Then Han grunted and did some surging of his own, and the hands on Bodhi’s hips slid around to his ass, pulling him close, till Bodhi was flush against Han’s hard body. Which was starting to be even harder, in certain places.

 

For long minutes, they kissed, Han eventually backing Bodhi up against the wall next the door again. The latter was in a lust-drenched haze, his body responding without discrimination to another body that happened to feel like Galen’s: tall, sure, and firm.

 

Indeed, Han was grinding against Bodhi, half-hard and with languid urgency, his tongue leading Bodhi’s in a delicious dance that was, at turns, teasing and tortuous.

 

And Bodhi, for his part, was clutching at Han’s neck and shoulders ceaselessly, and so desperately tight, that Han finally, with a low chuckle that made Bodhi’s teeth vibrate, let go of Bodhi’s ass and caught his hands at the wrist. Bodhi made a petulant noise until Han pinned his wrists to the dry, crumbling brick wall, squeezing them rhythmically, his thumbs pressed to and rubbing circles on Bodhi’s pulse. The noise _this_ occasioned was _far_ from petulant.

 

“Wow, brown-eyes,” Han broke the kiss to pant on Bodhi’s slick, kiss-swollen lips, before helping himself to _another_ kiss, breathless and brief. “Where’d _all this_ come from?”

 

“I—I—” Bodhi stammered and, when Han chuckled a bit ruefully, blushed. “I plead the Fifth.”

 

“Ah,” Han said knowingly, nonetheless. And: “ _Damn_. He’s a _fool_ to give you up when just _thinkin’_ about him turns you into such a wild-cat.”

 

“I _don’t_ wanna talk about Galen Erso,” Bodhi said adamantly, and Han’s smirk when he leaned back was both wry and almost pitying.

 

“Neither do I, Bodhi. But he’s here, standing in-between us, whether you like it or not.” Han leaned in again, resting his forehead against Bodhi’s. “There was a time, not too long ago, I’d’ve tumbled you ten times between now and tomorrow morning, and not given the _smallest_ of fucks _who_ you were pretending I was, once I was inside you. But that time has passed, kiddo. I don’t think _you_ pretending I’m Mr. GQ would be at all healthy for _either_ of us. The sex’d be _fantastic_ , don’t get me wrong,” he added wistfully, then sighed. “The things I’d do to that _body_ of yours, Bodhi Rook . . . but I’m not gonna pretend to be the guy you _really_ want just to get in your pants. I don’t think you’d appreciate it, once the dank wore off.”

 

“But—” Bodhi began to protest, then stopped, cudgeling his sluggish brain until it came up with the realization that Han was _right_. However good a purely sexual liaison might feel now, _tomorrow_ , it’d feel . . . less so. And in large part, it’d feel so wrong because he’d have taken advantage of someone still so obviously weathering a broken heart. _Using_ that person to help distract from his _own_ broken heart. And, yes . . . despite only having known Galen for an afternoon, the man had broken Bodhi’s heart into tiny, easily-ground shards, as surely as he’d captivated it. And just as quickly, too. “What if I _wasn’t_ pretending you were Galen? What if I wanted _you_ to be this evening’s entertainment, and _only you_?”

 

Smirking, Han waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. “Well, then, I’d give you a show you’d _never_ forget, kitten. Not _ever_.”

 

Groaning, Bodhi sagged back against the wall, eyes closed, wrists still held firm and flat by Han’s big hands. The other man made another hungry sound—and impatient, as well—before capturing Bodhi’s lips in a hot, teasing kiss that lasted until they were pressed together again, Han’s hips driving slowly, but steadily, and with incrementally increasing intensity into Bodhi’s.

 

“God,” Han breathed on Bodhi’s mouth. His own tasted like marijuana and cigarette smoke, Jack Daniel’s and syrupy-sweet cola. “How in the _hell_ did he walk away from _you_?”

 

“All too easily.”

 

“Speaking as a man in the same position of having to walk away, I don’t think it was all that easy,” Han said breathily, sipping sweet, brief kisses from Bodhi’s tingling lips. “I have a feeling he’ll be regretting letting _you_ go till the day he dies.”

 

“Oh!” Bodhi said, small and bereft. “ _Oh!_ ” Leaning back to look at Han with wide, stricken eyes, Bodhi blinked, in an attempt to dismiss the furious stinging behind his eyes, only for a few tears to escape anyway. When Han let go of his right wrist to brush those tears away with his callused thumb, Bodhi inhaled a deep, quivering breath, then burst into tears: a full-on crying jag that reduced him to a hitching, broken mess in Han’s strong arms.

 

“You know, my favorite author once said: ‘You're just as dead if you fall from forty feet as you are from four thousand fathoms.’” Han’s voice as he held Bodhi close and stroked his hair, was soothing and far too understanding.

 

“I d-don’t even know what that m-means!” Bodhi sobbed into Han’s shoulder, but he was giggling, too, picturing _Han Solo_ in a smoking-jacket, with reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, holding an opened copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ . . . with said book upside-down.

 

“It means _in for a penny, in for a pound_ , sweetheart. A sentiment I’m kinda thinkin’ your _Galen_ _Erso_ didn’t understand or subscribe to . . . before he met _you_. Betcha _now_ he’s probably already a true believer in that shit. That when it comes to love or even lust, there’re no halfsies. That you’re just as dead from a forty-foot fall as from a four thousand-fathom fall . . . isn’t that right, Mr. Erso?”

 

“Actually,” Galen said from Bodhi’s right, causing him to start and gasp, then attempt to shove Han away. But Han was having none of it, keeping his grip on Bodhi’s wrist and hip, respectively. Galen’s unreadable eyes ticked from Bodhi’s face, to Han’s face—and to Han’s hands on Bodhi’s wrist and hip—then back. A muscle near his right eye ticked once, before he smiled blandly, the anemic curve of his mouth touching those dark, distant eyes not at all. “If one is being conscientious about the fall, there’s always the crater and the aftermath to worry about. Innocent bystanders, and such.” Another tick, followed by a slow blink. “Well, Bodhi, since you seem to be alright, after all. . . .”

 

Galen didn’t finish the sentence, instead turning to go back inside. The door—clearly modified so that it wouldn’t slam or otherwise make any noise upon opening or closing—nonetheless seemed to chuff loudly when it shut behind him. Leaving Bodhi to gape up at Han with shocked incredulity, and Han to shrug apologetically in response.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys, again, for sticking with this fic, kudoing and commenting. I'm having a ball writing this piece, so the fact that some of you are really digging it makes me feel warm and tingly. Thank you :-)
> 
> Come say "hi!" on [The Tumbles](http//beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	8. By the Seat of his Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting.

**“Your life will fly by, so make sure you're the pilot.”** **  
―** **Rob Liano**

 

“Sorry?” Han apologized softly, wincing when Bodhi blinked up at him with wide, heart-broken eyes and completely at a loss for words.

 

Then Bodhi was pulling free of Han’s grip and yanking open the door, ready to storm back into the dining area and, if need be, have it out with one Galen Erso. Not that he had any words or parts of a speech planned, but he knew that he was, aside from heartsore and perhaps inappropriately turned-on, mad enough to _spit_.

 

Because . . . how fucking _dare_ _he_?

 

And when Bodhi’s eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the narrow hall that lead back into the dining area, and he saw Galen—about halfway down the hall, leaning against the wall between the exit and the janitor’s closet: hunched over, hands on his knees, head hanging as he stared at the door to the men’s room—that’s exactly what he led with, storming toward the older man.

 

“How fucking _dare you_ , Galen Erso?” Bodhi demanded in a low tone that nonetheless carried. Galen didn’t even look up at Bodhi’s approach, which only made Bodhi angrier. “How _dare_ you pull that passive-aggressive shit with me as if _I’m_ somehow _wrong_ for—for—”

 

“For _what_ , Bodhi?” Galen asked wearily, sighing. But when he finally looked up at Bodhi, who’d stopped just outside Galen’s personal bubble, his eyes were fiery and flashing in the scant lighting. “What could you have been doing that my sudden presence would make you feel wrong?”

 

Bodhi could only gape for a minute as Galen stared him down hard, with burning, accusing eyes. Then he flushed and squared his shoulders. “Not a damn thing,” he said coldly. “I have nothing to feel wrong about or be ashamed of. At least nothing that’s any of my _roommate’s father’s_ business.”

 

And with that, Bodhi made to storm past Galen, but was surprised when Galen caught his arm and pulled him back—pulled him _close_ —and glared down into his eyes, scowling and clearly unhappy.

 

“You couldn’t even wait a _full day_?” Galen hissed, seeming as hurt as he was angry. Bodhi felt that same pain move through him like a tsunami of misery. “Or maybe until I left town, before you. . . .”

 

“Before I _what_ , Galen?” Bodhi’s eyes narrowed. “Before I set out to ensnare some other poor shmuck in my sexy web of deceit?” Snorting, Bodhi tried to pull his arm free, but Galen just held on tighter. Tight enough that there’d probably be bruises later. “Let go of me, Galen.”

 

“I thought you were upset,” Galen said, ignoring Bodhi’s request and leaning even closer . . . close enough that in spite of the low lighting, Bodhi could see the flecks of gold and green in his eyes. “I thought . . . I thought I’d _hurt_ you. But I see now you were just chasing after that scruffy waiter. Couldn’t even wait for him to leave his phone number on the back of the check?”

 

Stung, Bodhi yanked on his arm hard enough that Galen finally let go. “You’re a _prick_. And I _don’t_ have to explain myself to you. It’s not like you have any say or stakes in how I live my life.”

 

That scowl deepened and Galen’s eyes were almost throwing off sparks. “No, I don’t. But I’d assumed that common decency and respect for Jyn and Cassian on a night that’s theirs to celebrate would’ve acted like a dash of cold water on your libido! I didn’t realize securing the next available cock would take precedence over your friends!”

 

Bodhi’s mouth dropped open in shock and disbelief—pain as pure and stark as anything he’d ever felt. Any reply he might have made was overwhelmed by the bolt of despair that rocketed through him at Galen’s words.

 

For his part, Galen seemed just as shocked by his words as Bodhi was. The wince that immediately followed said words was both solicitous and regretful. “Bodhi—I . . . listen, I shouldn’t have said—”

 

“But did you _mean_ it?” Bodhi asked in a quiet, small voice, through numb lips. “Do you—is _that_ what you think of me? Is that _all_ you think of me?”

 

Another flicker in those fiery eyes . . . before the fire was banked and smothered by sadness and something that Bodhi could’ve sworn was panicked supplication. “I—I shouldn’t have said that, but I was angry, and it slipped out in the heat of the moment—”

 

“Obviously.” Bodhi shook his head and backed away from Galen. It was only a few steps before he hit the opposite wall—and he was glad of its presence to hold him up, he was suddenly so drained and exhausted. “Either you were speaking your mind or saying whatever you thought would hurt me the most. That’s really the only things it could be. And I’m asking you which it was.”

 

“Why does it matter, Bodhi?” Galen mumbled, looking down at his hands as if at a stranger’s. “Why do you care?”

 

“Why do you _think_ I care, Galen?” Bodhi laughed, mirthless and brief. “Why do _you think_ it matters so much to me?”

 

“Perhaps you’re a masochist,” Galen answered, frowning at his palms. Bodhi’s smile was as mirthless and brief as his laugh.

 

“Ain’t no _perhaps_ about it.” Then, when Galen looked up, almost smiling, too, Bodhi’s heart skipped a beat and he sighed. “You _know_ what I want. _Who_ I want. And that has _nothing_ to do with Han Solo or any other guy. It has nothing to do with Jyn or Cassian or anyone else you wanna throw in my face to avoid the question. In the end, Galen, it’s just me and you. And whatever you choose to do about us.”

 

“Bodhi. . . .”

 

“So, again, I ask: Do you _really_ think that badly of me . . . or were you just trying to hurt me because seeing me so close to another guy hurt _you_? Because the latter . . . I can understand and work with. The former . . . not so much.”

 

Galen’s mouth pursed like he wasn’t going to answer, but then he met Bodhi’s gaze with a glittering, intent one. “I can’t answer that.”

 

“Can’t or _won’t_?”

 

“It would be . . . _unwise_ for me to answer that,” Galen corrected himself gruffly. Bodhi scoffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head again, this time in frustration and disgust.

 

And hopelessness.

 

“ _Of course_ , you think it’s unwise. Of course,” he said, resisting the need to rub at his eyes, which were stinging at the backs again. “Because only a complete idiot or a lunatic would wanna be with _me_ , right?”

 

“That’s not what I said, Bodhi,” Galen mumbled, just loud enough for Bodhi to hear. “I didn’t say that.”

 

“You’re not saying a _lotta_ things, Galen, but I think I’m starting to read between the lines of what you _are_ saying.” Bodhi’s smile widened till it felt like his face would crack. His vision throbbed and burned from his elevated pulse and held-back tears. “You don’t wanna be with me. And that’s fine. That’s your right. I get that. But what I _don’t_ get, is why you’re treating me like shit because someone else actually _is_ interested in me? Are you just being the dog in the manger? Or do you really think that I’m somehow ruining Jyn and Cassian’s happy night just to spite you? What _is it_?”

 

Galen’s mouth pursed again and this time he _didn’t_ answer, instead looking down at his feet, his lips twisted in a bitter frown. Bodhi closed his eyes for a minute, trying to rein in his emotions and give the throbbing sting behind his lids a chance to fade.

 

“You _can’t_ not want me and then _not_ want me to try to get over you, either. You _can’t_ . . . _not_ have your cake and then eat it, too, Galen,” he said in his most even and unemotional tone, squeezing his eyes shut tighter to repress the scalding tears that seemed to be the hallmark of his life since meeting Galen Erso. “You can’t—”

 

But Bodhi didn’t get a chance to finish dictating what was and wasn’t possible for middle-aged engineers. For suddenly, a demanding, hard mouth was pressed to his own, instantly opening so that an agile, forceful tongue could tease the seam of his lips for a moment . . . before shock parted them in a silent gasp. Then Galen was invading his every sense—he tasted and smelled of lemon and pepper and scotch—kissing Bodhi deep and wet and thoroughly, his hands coming up to cup Bodhi’s face with contrasting tenderness.

 

For a timeless eternity, all Bodhi could do was submit to the kiss, let himself be possessed by Galen’s desire and his own yearning for exactly _this_. But then he was pushing against and into the strong, solid body pinning his to the wall, and licking and darting his way into Galen’s mouth, mapping territory he’d claimed mere hours earlier.

 

He didn’t even realize he was moaning, soft, high, and pathetic, until Galen’s own groans formed a deeper counterpoint and comparison. Then Galen’s kisses wended their way from Bodhi’s lips, to his jaw, then to his ear. There, they turned into sharp, nipping nibbles of his ear lobe that sent happy shivers and shudders up and down Bodhi’s spine and a molten, supernova burst flaring from his core, on outward . . . specifically to his groin.

 

“Galen, _please_ ,” he begged, squirming and writhing between man and wall: a near-literal rock and a hard place. “More. . . .”

 

“ _Så smuk, min søde_ ,” Galen muttered back, around his toothy purchase in Bodhi’s ear. His hips pinned Bodhi’s hard and with arousing determination. “ _Shhh . . . ligesom dette. . . ._ ”

 

“Norwegian is _not_ a sexy language, is it?” Bodhi panted, laughing, head thunking back against the wall. Galen chuckled, nosing his way down Bodhi’s neck, inhaling deeply as he did, and alternating those deep inhalations with nips and kisses and licks.

 

“It’s _Danish_ , actually, and no . . . I don’t suppose it is,” Galen responded quietly, almost ponderously. “Though my only quarrel with my native tongue is that it doesn’t have _nearly_ enough words that mean _beautiful_ , to describe _you_ with any poetry, power, or accuracy.”

 

“I’ll settle for _one_ word, for now,” Bodhi hissed as Galen teased the newly-shaven, very sensitive skin of his throat with his teeth. Galen hummed before he replied.

 

“ _Smuk_ ,” he said. Then: “It means _beautiful_. An unattractive word for a lovely little magpie, such as you.”

 

“Oh, and is _magpie_ what passes for an endearment among Danes?”

 

 _“Min lille Magpie,_ ” Galen rumbled his agreement, chuckling again, both rumble and chuckle vibrating on the skin just below Bodhi’s ear, causing him to gaps softly. “ _Jeg vil kneppe dig_. _Indtil du tigge mig om at stoppe med at lave du kommet._ ”

 

“Well, _that_ j-just sounded _d-dirty_ ,” Bodhi noted, not bothering to hide the happy anticipation in his voice.

 

“It was.” A silent beat, then Galen was sighing and whispering almost guiltily. “ _Tilgiv mig. Jeg undskylder. Du er betagende og dejlig, og jeg ønsker at gøre kærlighed til dig._ _Mere end noget, jeg ønsker det._ ”

 

“ _Fuck_.” Bodhi blushed, but he was also smiling. “Do I need to take a _Berlitz_ course to keep up with your dirty-talk?”

 

Galen kept chuckling, just a bit ruefully now, but didn’t answer, burying his face in the crook of Bodhi’s neck and inhaling. “ _Du lugter som hjemme._ ”

 

“Y’know, you could say _anything_ in Danish and tell me it means _anything_ you think I wanna hear.” Bodhi didn’t know whether he was making an accusation or giving permission. Either way, Galen didn’t rise to the bait, saying only:

 

“ _Fortryllende_.”

 

“Wh-what does _that_ mean?”

 

“Enchanting. Bewitching,” Galen breathed on Bodhi’s heated skin, and the younger man shivered.

 

“I’m r-really not. . . .”

 

“You really _are_.”

 

Then Galen’s mouth was on Bodhi’s again, hot and demanding, hard and devouring. At least for a little while. Then the kiss softened, gentled, turned into something as tender as it was sweet and reverent. Galen’s hands, which had settled on Bodhi’s neck and upper arm, came up to cup his face once more, as gingerly as if they were holding a delicate crystal.

 

Bodhi’s own hands, overwhelmed and out of their depth, fluttered and flailed about Galen’s shoulders, lighting for the occasional moment before lifting off again, describing nervous, but graceful arcs—like anxious butterflies—in the heated air surrounding them.

 

Somehow, it was the most perfect moment of Bodhi’s life, to date: simple and complex, poignant and passionate, familiar and intense. It was very much a moment and a kiss he’d remember every day to his dying one, with no need to color or filter the experience because it was just _so_. _Perfect_ as it was. The kiss to end all kisses.

 

And then:

 

“ _Wow_. Don’t _you two_ put on a _helluva_ show?”

 

A moment after that swaggering, slightly mocking voice spoke, Bodhi was kissing nothing but lukewarm air. He opened darkness- and desire-dazed eyes to see Galen’s profile as the other man stared back toward the exit, his mobile mouth turned down in a frown.

 

Bodhi looked toward the exit, too. Toward Han Solo. The server was standing just in the doorway, under the light of the **EXIT** sign, in his form-fitting, wrinkled black trousers, barely-tucked white shirt, and black vest. He looked somehow dashing and dorky at the same time, all over-confident smile and under-combed hair. Bodhi couldn’t help the fond smile that curved his lips.

 

“You’re _such_ an asshole, Han.”

 

“Preachin’ to the choir, gorgeous.” Han’s eyes drifted to Galen, looking him over lazily. “Everything okay, here, Bodhi?”

 

Bodhi snorted and glanced at Galen, who was watching him solemnly. “I dunno. If it was just up to me, I’d say _yes_ , and invite you to the wedding,” he said, smirking and rolling his eyes sardonically. Galen’s mouth twitched at the corners. “But I’m not the only clown in this sideshow.”

 

“Huh. That’s . . . one _romantical_ metaphor, kiddo,” Han said, lazily. “You been hangin’ around _me_ too long.”

 

“I agree. That twenty minutes in your company _did_ feel like an eternity,” Bodhi quipped, and Han chuckled.

 

“Oh, it wasn’t _all_ bad, was it?” Han’s brows shot up pointedly and he sauntered slowly toward them. “Some of it was . . . _good_ , huh?”

 

Bodhi blushed and smiled, small and secret, as he looked down, clearing his throat. “Pretty good,” he agreed, flustered and a bit chagrined.

 

Galen, meanwhile, was glancing from Bodhi, to Han, and back again, frowning once more, and harder than ever. “Do I even want to _know_?”

 

“Probably not,” Han said as he edged past them, back toward the dining area. “But do yourself a favor, Jeeves, and _get over yourself_. There’s a line of guys a _mile_ long who’d _kill_ to be in your shoes, right now. And I’m at the head of it, holdin’ a banana peel and just _waitin’_ for you to slip up.” After pausing to clap Galen on the shoulder chummily, Han grinned and winked at Bodhi then strolled off.

 

When he reached the main room, he turned right, toward the kitchen. Then Bodhi and Galen were looking at each other once more, the server forgotten for the moment.

 

“You and he. . . .” Galen began hesitantly. Bodhi shook his head and bobbed up to kiss the next words from Galen’s lips.

 

“ _Don’t_ throw stumbling blocks in our road, Galen. _Please_.” Bodhi looked up into Galen’s eyes and held them hopefully. “ _Han’s_ not the one I spent the latter portion of the afternoon and part of the evening crying over. Han’s _not_ the one I got all dolled up for—shaved the facial-scruff _and_ combed my stupid hair for. I _didn’t_ throw my heart and the rest of me at Han’s feet _twice_ , in the hopes of being worthy of his affection, and for _damn sure, Han’s not_ the one I wanna go home with tonight and every night thereafter.”

 

Now, it was Galen’s turn to gape, his eyes widening from about halfway through Bodhi’s impromptu speech. Then he shook his head slowly, closing those sorrowful eyes.

 

“We can’t,” was all he said, tired and regretful. But Bodhi found himself smiling, anyway, because he _knew_ , all of a sudden. He knew the answer to his previous question and he knew, without a doubt, what Galen wanted more than _anything_.

 

Galen wanted a _reason_.

 

He _wanted_ to be overridden.

 

He wanted _permission_ , from the universe _and_ Bodhi, himself. Permission to let himself see where this thing between them went and how deep the feelings ran.

 

He wanted _Bodhi_.

 

With the same intense, powerful, unreasoning urgency that Bodhi wanted _him_ , Galen Erso wanted _Bodhi_ back. Bodhi could feel it in the way Galen’s strong, solid body shook in his arms, ever so slightly. Could taste and smell it in the air between them. Could see it in those hazel-grey eyes and hear the yearning in that warm, cultured voice.

 

Still on his toes, Bodhi leaned in till their foreheads were touching and their breaths mingled, humid and hot. “I don’t claim to know _how_ it happened, or why _now_ , why so fast, and why so _strong_ , but . . . you and I are _connected_ , now, Galen. We . . . we maybe even _need_ each other. And I dunno about _you_ , but pretending otherwise and fighting this connection, this _need_ is . . . the most _awful_ thing I’ve ever had to do, and the _worst_ _feeling_ I’ve ever felt.” Pressing his lips to Galen’s lower one, featherlight and chaste, Bodhi closed eyes that once more stung. “And considering that it’s _you_ that I’m feeling bad in regards to— _you_ , Galen, the person who’s made me feel more beautiful, smart, funny, and _amazing_ than anyone else ever has—that sure seems like a travesty, to me.”

 

After another chaste press of lips, Galen was capturing Bodhi’s mouth again with a needy groan, his body pinning and pressing Bodhi’s against the wall.

 

When they had to surface for oxygen or pass out, Bodhi wrapped his arms around Galen’s neck and held on tight. “Please,” he whispered desperately, panting and gasping. “I’m not asking you to promise me anything other than a chance. A chance to show you that you and I can make something real and lasting out of this craziness that’s happening between us. That it doesn’t _have_ to be this big tragedy, this _verboten_ opportunity that we pass-up and regret forever.”

 

Galen sighed breathlessly. “But what would she _think_?” he asked— _muttered_ , really, and so quietly, he was clearly speaking more to himself than to Bodhi. “I made her a _promise_ —I swore to her that there’d never be anyone else. That I’d stay faithful to all that was—all that is now mere memory. I promised I wouldn’t, because of greed or loneliness, seek out that same happiness twice in my life. I promised her this out of love, respect, and fidelity.”

 

“It’s our _human_ _right_ to be able to seek out happiness, Galen. There’s nothing greedy about that. And nothing noble about loneliness. No one expects you to be miserable and grieving forever! Especially not the people who love you!” Bodhi tried to catch Galen’s downcast gaze, but couldn’t, and eventually leaned their foreheads together again. “I don’t think eternal loneliness and misery is a promise she or anyone else can, or does, expect you to keep.”

 

“But what would she _think_? What _must_ she think? Going back on my word after seventeen years. . . .”

 

Puzzled, now— _Jyn . . . knows? Or suspects?_ —Bodhi bit his lip before speaking again. “I think . . . it’d be a period of adjustment for her. For us _all_. But . . . in the end, I’d hope that she’d be _happy_ for us. And so happy with Cassian, that she’d only wish the same happiness—or a chance at—for us,” he said softly, and Galen sighed again.

 

“It wasn’t Jyn that I meant, but now that you mention her. . . .” a third sigh, in the space of which Bodhi mentally asked and answered his own question: _Then, who—oh . . ._ _Lyra_ . . . _Jyn’s mother_. _Who else?_ “How and what would I _possibly_ tell _Jyn_ about this, Little Magpie? About _us_?” Galen brushed his fingers along the line of Bodhi’s jaw, wondering and gentle. “That I’m not only devastatingly attracted to her male best friend who’s less than half my age, but I have improbably strong feelings for him despite knowing him for less than a day?”

 

“Maybe . . . maybe you don’t tell her _anything_ until _we_ figure out what’s going on? Until we figure out _what_ we are to each other?” Bodhi suggested, shivering on a subatomic level because of Galen’s bemused admission and under his awed ministrations. “Maybe we just . . . see where it goes, first, then figure out what, if anything, there is to tell Jyn?”

 

“I don’t like keeping secrets from her,” Galen said solemnly, but then he nodded once. “But I suppose . . . it’s better not to have her and Cassian weighing in on us before we know if there even _is_ an us.”

 

“Well,” Bodhi said sheepishly, blushing again. “You’ve got _half_ your wish, anyway. _Jyn doesn’t_ , as far as I’m aware, know there’s an _us_.”

 

Galen’s brow furrowed in confusion, then cleared as he realized what Bodhi was saying.

 

“You . . . told Cassian.”

 

“More like he noticed that I had hickeys and was walking funny, and confronted me. And once confronted I . . . _may_ have told him everything. _All_ of it.” Still red, Bodhi tried to look down, but Galen wouldn’t let him, tipping Bodhi’s head back up and bussing the tip of his nose.

 

“Well . . . no wonder he’s been so . . . oddly disapproving of me. Especially considering that _he’s_ the one marrying _my_ daughter,” he mused.

 

“He can be . . . overprotective of Jyn and I,” Bodhi explained, wriggling his nose and smiling. _Galen’s_ almost-smile made a comeback.

 

“That’s because you’re both _more_ than worth some overprotecting.” That almost-smile faded back into a frown. “I understand, now, why he didn’t seem to like me, however. I suppose I should be grateful that he hasn’t rushed to tell Jyn her father’s the worst sort of opportunist.”

 

“That’s because you’re _not_. And _Cassian’s_ _not_ that kinda guy. He’s _decent_ , just like you. Besides which, it’s not _his_ truth to tell, so he won’t _tell_ it.” Bodhi shrugged. “He, too, said he doesn’t keep secrets from Jyn, but in this case, he won’t betray a confidence. He gave his word.”

 

“That’s . . . laudable.” Galen hung his head, closing his eyes tight for a moment. “He’s an honorable man and a steadfast friend. Sweet and solicitous to my Jyn. He’ll make a good husband.”

 

“That, he will.” Bodhi smiled.

 

“It’s just that there’re _so many_ things I have to talk with Jyn about before the elopement—so many things I never told her.” Galen stared soberly into the distance beyond Bodhi’s right shoulder for a few, brooding, ponderous moments before looking into Bodhi’s eyes again. “So many things _you and I_ must talk about—including the fact that I have a life back in Olympia that I’m . . . not prepared to abandon.”

 

“Well, you don’t have to rush to pick up stakes and come live in Jedha City if you don’t _want_ to. I’m not so attached to this place—except for Jyn and Cassian—that, if you were to someday ask it of me, I would say _no_ to moving closer to where you are.” His face red and ears _burning_ , Bodhi attempted a cavalier, Han-esque grin in the face of Galen’s open-mouthed surprise. “I mean, I was _planning_ on going to grad school here, but I can’t say I’m looking forward to another two years under _Tzar_ Krennic’s ungenerous thumb.”

 

Galen blinked slowly, his gaze gone intent and intense again. _Wondering_. “You would . . . be willing to pick up _your_ life just to accommodate _mine_?”

 

“Relationships of any kind are about compromises, in part. And mine is the easier life to pick up and move, I imagine. So, yes. I would.” Bodhi shrugged again, then cupped Galen’s cheek in his left hand, letting his thumb brush and stroke along prominent, proud bone-structure. He did _not_ miss the way Galen leaned into his touch with a soft, relieved exhalation and a brief flutter of lashes, as if all he wanted to do was rest under Bodhi’s touch. “And for what it’s worth, if and when the time comes to talk to Jyn—which we would be doing _together_ , Galen. I would _never_ let you go through such an important conversation alone. Especially when it’s about something that involves the both of us—I’ll do my _best_ to help her through it. Help _all four of us_ through it. Should that eventuality arise.”

 

Bodhi was careful to add that last qualifier, to keep Galen from thinking he was jumping the gun due to youth and inexperience. Mere minutes prior, the other man had seemed inclined and primed to not give things between them a go. Bodhi wasn’t about to hand him any more ammunition toward that end.

 

But Galen was smiling again—a _full_ one—as he continued to lean into Bodhi’s gentle touch. “ _Should the eventuality arise_ . . . oh, Bodhi Rook. When one thinks of you—when _I_ think of you—all _sorts_ of eventualities arise. Not the least of which are thoughts of a possible future . . . one in which you’re an integral feature of my life and vice versa. I have a strong feeling that the connection and feelings you mentioned will stand the tests of time, if not circumstance, and telling Jyn that we’ve grown close _will_ , in fact, be an eventuality.” Those hazel-grey eyes searched Bodhi’s own with a depth and breadth of feeling Bodhi had _never before_ seen directed at himself. “This is both premature and reckless of me to say, ten hours after meeting you, but . . . I’m on a fast-track to being desperately infatuated with you. And that has made me willing to risk even my relationship with my daughter on the chance that there can be a . . . happily ever after in our mutual future.”

 

Bodhi’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in its most intelligent gape, yet. “Galen, I. . . .”

 

“You don’t have to say it back, Bodhi, or promise me anything. I understand that you and I may be at completely different stages of our lives and looking for different things out of a possible relationship—that’s something I suppose we’ll have to hash out, as well—but I feel that I should lay my cards on the table, as it were, so you know where you stand with me.”

 

Completely at a loss for words—a state only Galen had ever been able to send him into—Bodhi could only open his mouth and let it work until actual words came tripping out. “Y-You . . . you’re falling in l-love with me?” he sought to clarify. Galen nodded once, with focused deliberation.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you w-want—or can at least _see_ —a happily ever after for us? For _you and me_?”

 

Galen nodded again. “Yes, Bodhi, I can. I . . . I have hopes for that. Increasingly high ones that have only gone higher with every minute I spend with you. I suppose that’s why I . . . said those terrible things after seeing you with that waiter.” Glowering, Galen sent a displeased look in the direction Han had gone. Back toward the light and noise and energy of the dining room. “I thought that the hopes I’d so carefully tried to disabuse myself of had been dashed by nothing more than a good-looking playboy with a charming smile and no clue what a breathtaking, lovely gem he was courting in you. I was _angry_ at you, and much more so at _myself_ for . . . letting hope fly right out of my hands due to my own missishness and inaction. Please tell me that I _haven’t_ . . . that I still have a chance at some sort of happiness with you?”

 

Agape and feeling as if he was standing at the edge of a precipice, Bodhi huffed and closed his eyes. On the backs of his eyelids, he saw . . . _himself_ . . . standing at the edge of a cliff, looking across a yawning expanse of air and nothingness before him. Looking down at the swirling, black abyss below.

 

Then he gazed further across the vast chasm to see . . . cliffs at the far side, as well: craggy, but stable. Galen was standing at their edge, smiling, with shining eyes and open arms.

 

Without preamble, he stepped forward, toward Bodhi and off the edge of the cliff—

 

—and made his careful, sedate way across the gaping span, walking on nothing that _Bodhi_ , who hadn’t even had time to gasp or cry out, could see. Galen continued to stroll—on thin air, unicorns’ dreams, and fairy farts—across the space separating them, not glancing once down at the churning wreck and ruin below. He only had eyes for Bodhi. For what lay before him, not what lay behind or below.

 

Could Bodhi do any less? _Be_ any less?

 

 _No_ , his heart whispered, _no, I can’t_.

 

And—shaking, but hopeful . . . _overflowing_ with a joyous sort of faith not in the air surrounding him, and its ability to keep him aloft and above the maelstrom roiling below the cliffs, but faith in _Galen’s_ own faith and hope . . . faith in _himself_ —Bodhi, too, stepped free of the safety of his cliff. . . .

 

Opening his eyes and his mouth once more, Bodhi met and held Galen’s gaze with determination and courage, and ran, laughing, to meet him halfway.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Today's the day I get to your feedback and concrit. I'll read and answer every comment. Thank you all for sticking with this and sticking with me <3
> 
> Flail with me on [The Tumbles](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	9. By Leaps and Bounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. NC-17 for this chapter.

**“Sometimes to change a situation you are in requires you to take a giant leap. But, you won't be able to fly unless you are willing to transform.”**

**―** **Suzy Kassem**

 

Quite literally, Bodhi Rook was laughing as he looked into Galen Erso’s worried, but hopeful eyes, and stepped out onto thin air.

 

“I’m already in the deep-end, dog-paddling for my life,” he said, and when Galen looked puzzled, he smirked, wry and sardonic. “Forget _falling in love_ with you, you ass! I’m already _fell!_ ”

 

Galen blinked, and his eyes widened as he processed what Bodhi had just said. “You, er . . . you want—”

 

“ _You_ , Galen Erso,” Bodhi whispered, leaning their foreheads together for a few moments before embracing the other man close and tight. “Any way I can get you.”

 

Hugging him back, Galen sighed. “You . . . can have me. If you still wish to, after the trial-period.”

 

“Ah.” Chuckling, Bodhi sighed in relief and relaxation in arms he’d never known he’d needed till the first time they’d held him, mere hours ago. “You mean the awful and onerous time known as _dating_?” With a final squeeze, he leaned back to look into Galen’s eyes, his own amused, for once. Galen’s were still rather somber and concerned. “I promise, I’ll do my best to make it not _too_ terrible.”

 

“It’s not _me_ I’m worried that the dating will be terrible for,” Galen muttered, looking down. Bodhi cupped Galen’s jaw in his hand and tilted his face back up, despite Galen’s half-hearted resistance. When the older man’s eyes met Bodhi’s own, Bodhi smiled. It only made Galen heave another soft, sad sigh. “I don’t wish to scare you off with my hopes and fears. My jealousy—” Galen nodded in the direction Han had gone “—nor my . . . intensity. For which Lyra used to and Art _still_ _does_ poke fun at me.”

 

Blushing, Bodhi smiled again, small and fond. “I happen to _like_ your intensity.”

 

Galen’s brows lifted. “Is that so?”

 

“ _Very much_ so. It’s sexy.”

 

“I’m glad you think so, because when it comes to you . . . I’m finding that said intensity jumps exponentially to newer, higher levels,” Galen admitted quietly, his gaze steady as he pressed Bodhi back against the wall slowly, but hard, with his larger frame. His body was a warm, caring anchor, tethering Bodhi to the Earth while allowing his soul to soar. They leaned-in closer to each other, Bodhi murmuring: _Yes, Galen_ , into the tentative, almost timid kiss that connected them.

 

“Apparently, _I_ should’ve been the one to go find Bodhi, Professor Erso.”

 

Startled and all but jumping apart, Bodhi and Galen found themselves facing a none-too-happy-looking Cassian Andor, standing not five feet away, hands on his hips like someone’s disapproving mother. His gaze rested angrily on Galen.

 

“Cass—this isn’t what it looks like,” Bodhi began breathlessly, his body still ninety percent lost in the kiss and closeness of a few moments ago.

 

“So . . . you’re _not_ letting Galen Erso, the man who somehow managed to break your heart once today, in the half-day that you’ve known him, kiss the lips off you in a dark, but public hallway near the bathrooms?”

 

A beat.

 

“Okay, so maybe it _is_ what it looks like,” Bodhi corrected himself. “At least a little?”

 

“Bodhi,” Cassian said warningly, but his hard, cold-hot gaze was on Galen.

 

“No, listen Cassian, I _know_ how bad this looks . . . really. Like I’m making the same dumb-ass mistake twice in the same day, but I’m really not. I’m . . . _Galen and I_ are . . . we want to try giving this thing between us a go. We wanna see if we’re the real deal before we go telling anyone. _Especially_ Jyn. We don’t wanna risk hurting her over what could be . . . nothing.”

 

Cassian’s face didn’t change by so much as a blink. “How sweet,” he said in a remarkably inflection-free voice. Bodhi flushed, but squared his shoulders and tightened his arms around Galen’s neck, yanking the taller man forward with an _oof!_

 

“Don’t you give us that scary, impassive Navy SEAL face, Cass.  You frighten no one, least of all me. Or Galen,” he said loftily. Galen cleared his throat and muttered:

 

“Now, now, don’t provoke the military-trained sniper, _min søde_.”

 

“P’shaw,” Bodhi scoffed, matching Cassian glare for glare. “Cassian’s about as dangerous as a bowl of minestrone soup. I know his weaknesses.”

 

Cassian’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have weaknesses. Only varying degrees of strength.”

 

“Is that so? Okay then. The first eleven minutes of _UP_. And the last _five_ minutes.”

 

Those narrowed eyes grew just a tad narrower and the frown that’d been etched onto his mouth loosened a little. “That’s dirty pool, Bodhi.”

 

“I’m a dirty man,” Bodhi said rather proudly. Galen made a soft sound low in his throat, clutching at Bodhi’s waist a bit tighter. The beginnings of Galen’s hard-on were fantastically undeterred by Cassian’s presence.

 

The same could be said for Bodhi’s. And all he wanted was for Cassian to get scarce so he and Galen could finish what they’d started . . . along this stretch of corridor near the restrooms which, one would have _thought_ would’ve been more frequently traveled by both customers and employees.

 

 _Really,_ Bodhi mused _, these people must have bladders the size of cisterns._

 

Then he was recalled to the situation at hand by Cassian moving closer, his voice lowered and rough. “Have you forgotten the way you were treated this afternoon by this very same man?” he asked, his face suddenly a study in disbelief and concern. “He used you, then let you walk away, hurt, after deflowering you—”

 

“Oh, my God, _please_ never use that term in regards to me ever again,” Bodhi groaned, burying his face in Galen’s shoulder. The other man kissed the crown of his head and murmured something that was both very comforting in tone and very Danish in words.

 

“ _Deflowered you_ ,” Cassian enunciated, “then threw you away.”

 

“I didn’t throw him away,” Galen said softly. Cassian snorted.

 

“But you _did_ deflower him?”

 

Galen didn’t answer.

 

“You took something he can never get back, then you let him walk away, feeling as if he’d been discarded—used and discarded.”

 

“I _didn’t_ throw him away,” Galen insisted, sounding a bit angry, now. “I didn’t use and discard him. I care for Bodhi very deeply. I was only trying to protect him. And Jyn.”

 

“Yes. You care for and are trying to protect the man you just met this morning.” Cassian seemed less than impressed, crossing his arms. He was close enough that Bodhi could smell the fancy, foreign beer the ex-SEAL favored and see a few strands of premature grey in his sable hair. “I must say I’m overwhelmed with trusting you with my best friend’s heart.”

 

“ _I’m_ your best friend?” Bodhi asked in a small, touched voice, the backs of his eyes ready to sting and herald tears yet again.

 

“Shut up, Bodhi,” Cassian said, putting his hands on his narrow hips and leaning forward.

 

At the same time Galen kissed Bodhi’s forehead and murmured, “Hush, _min elskov_. Listen, Cassian, I know that my past treatment of Bodhi gives you no reason to trust me or welcome me into his life. I know you feel protective of him and that he’s as close to you as family—”

 

“No, he _is_ family.” This time, Cassian was the one to be insistent. Grimly so. “He and Jyn are two of the three people in this world that I trust. And I don’t trust them with _just anyone_. Especially when that person has, in the very recent past, proven to be . . . unreliable, to put it kindly.”

 

Galen was silent for several, long moments, his face gone as grim as Cassian’s voice, before speaking slowly and certainly, but still with that undercurrent of anger in his voice. “I was wrong in my treatment of Bodhi earlier. I hurt us both with the things I said and did . . . and _didn’t_ do.” Sighing, Galen shook his head, self-deprecatingly, looking down into Bodhi’s eyes, his own as solemn as Sunday morning. “I was unpardonably cruel to you, _min lille Magpie_. And yet, you’ve somehow managed to do just that: pardon me for my terrible treatment of you. I don’t know how _anyone_ can have such a big, forgiving heart as you’ve proven to have. But I will work at earning the faith you’ve placed in me. I’ll do my best to be worthy of the second chance you’ve gifted me.”

 

Bodhi’s heart beat markedly faster, until he felt as if it would fly right out of his chest. “Galen . . . Galen, forgiveness isn’t something you _ever_ have to _earn_ from me. It’s _not_ a thing to be earned, just . . . _given_. That doesn’t mean I’ll just _trust_ you . . . though I already _do_ trust you more than I trust anyone who isn't Jyn, Cassian, and Miranda. Everything else is just icing. And it’ll only come with time and shared experience. With learning how you are and seeing proof that you’re a stand-up guy. I imagine you feel the same. But I’m willing to give you a clean-slate, if you’ll give _me_ the same.”

 

Galen’s smile was gentle and fond. “ _Min søde lille fugl_ . . . what on Earth would you need _my_ forgiveness for?”

 

Bodhi blushed and looked down, unable to bear that gentleness and fondness, all of a sudden. “Well, for starters, it’d be awful swell if you could forgive the shameless way I threw myself at you, then laid there like a rotten plank while we . . . um. While we were intimate,” Bodhi finished discreetly, with a sidelong glance at Cassian. He could see the other man make a face from the corner of his eye. Bodhi lowered his voice and leaned in to whisper, holding Galen’s gaze. “That was literally the best thing that _ever_ happened to me—the _best_ experience of my life. And if I was selfish and not quick to reciprocate, it _wasn’t_ because I didn’t want to, but because I was so overwhelmed, all I could do was lay there and take whatever you gave me . . . and I’d have taken _whatever you chose to give me_ , Galen. Still would.”

 

Galen’s eyes widened and darkened, with surprise and arousal. The hands on Bodhi’s waist tightened to a possessive, promising squeeze.

 

“There’s nothing to forgive, Little Magpie,” Galen breathed, stealing a slow, sweet kiss that left Bodhi moaning pitifully. “Nothing at all. I only wish I’d had the presence of mind to make it more . . . special for you. Perfect, like you deserve.”

 

“You think it wasn’t? Special _and_ perfect?” Bodhi sighed dreamily, then chuckled. “The only thing I didn’t like was the way the afterglow ended. But right now’s going a _long_ way toward disspelling that.”

 

“I was a fool to resist you,” Galen agreed, both amused and sincere. “And an unsuccessful one, at that. Much to my relief.”

 

Bodhi closed his eyes again for a few moments, smiling and simply basking in the feeling of being wanted and cared for, for the first time in his life. It was a heady, exhilarating feeling, like sprinting barefoot through dewy grass in the summer sun. His heart was racing and his ankles were wet, and he was feeling mighty fine, _indeed_. Like he could _fly_. . . .

 

“Please don’t get itchy feet on me, Galen,” he heard himself whisper as his eyelids trembled and his lashes fluttered. “Or if you do, get ‘em _now_ and dump my pathetic ass before I discover that I can’t live without you.”

 

After several moments of palpable surprise, Galen was kissing him again, hard and urgent. Bodhi was helpless to do anything but surrender and submit to those kisses. And he did so desperately, with a craving that he knew would only grow more intense—grow _teeth_ —with time.

 

“Trust this, if nothing else I say, _min Magpie_ ,” Galen was murmuring into their kiss, rushed and almost slurred with his own desire. “I may be a fool, dyed-in-the-wool, but I’m never the same _kind_ of fool _twice_.”

 

Then Galen was pushing Bodhi against the wall hard, pinning him again with a low grunt.

 

“With all my knowledge and instinct,” he whispered on Bodhi’s lips, sipping small kisses like wine, “with all my careful distance and reserve . . . I could never entirely _predict_ this . . . predict _you_.” More kisses, a bit deeper and longer, but nonetheless sweet, and breathtakingly yearning. “You are the great surprise of a life that has had its share of joy and heartache. You are an unexpected, unhoped-for blessing that I may not _deserve_ . . . but one I will nonetheless _keep_ and treasure, for as long as I’m lucky enough to hold it.”

 

Moaning again, all but swooning when that moan was captured by Galen’s demanding mouth and predominating kiss, Bodhi didn’t notice Cassian’s rueful, exasperated, somewhat grossed-out: _blegh_. Only _barely_ noticed the former soldier speaking. “Well, this’s all very romantic and sweet, but we’re in a very public place where someone could stumble upon us at any—oh! Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to block the door to the ladies’ room—case in point. At least _one of you_ has to have some semblance of maturity and self-control? Bodhi? Professor Erso?”

 

No, Bodhi only noticed this _peripherally_. But Cassian’s next words acted like a dash of ice-water to the face and . . . other places: “Oh, _hello, Jyn_ , sweetheart. . . .”

 

One second, Galen’s talented, tongue was laying claim to Bodhi’s mouth and the uppermost portion of his throat. The next, they were sprung apart, Galen’s back against the opposite wall while Bodhi hugged the wall he’d so recently been pinned to. Both of them turned wide, anxious gazes in Cassian’s direction, only to see the man standing there, arms crossed once more, smirking at them and quite alone.

 

“Well. Now that I’ve got your attention,” he said smugly, clapping Bodhi on the shoulder before turning back down the hall and strolling past the nearby ladies’. “I’ll tell Jyn I found you both getting some air and that you’ll be back shortly.” Cassian paused at the mouth of the corridor, turning his head just slightly back in their general direction. “And I _do_ mean _shortly_. I’ll trust that you won’t make a liar of me.”

 

Then Cassian was gone, to the left and the dining room, leaving Bodhi and Galen to stare at each other with a wary sort of hungriness.

 

“Okay,” Bodhi said reasonably, holding out his hands as if begging to be heard. “Okay. So. I dunno about you, Professor, but . . . I really wanna go back to your hotel room and pick up where we left off this afternoon. I wanna be naked under your body, with you kissing me and touching me and _inside_ _me_. And I want that all-night long. _Please_ say I’m not alone in wanting this?”

 

Galen blinked then pushed himself away from the wall, smiling, and closed the distance between them. He cupped Bodhi’s face in his hands again, leaning in to press chaste kisses to the spot between Bodhi’s eyebrows, on his eyelids, and the tip of his nose. “You’re not alone, Bodhi. In this or anything else. Not as long as I draw breath.”

 

Bodhi whimpered as a final kiss landed on his lips like a promise. “Then let’s get this show on the road, Professor,” he husked out, low and hoarse with _wanting_. He felt Galen’s small, wry smile on his lips.

 

“I would, _dejlig én_ , but there’s a problem: You can’t exactly ask to be dropped off with me at my hotel when we leave. Also . . . perhaps we ought to be taking things a bit more slowly. Savoring the anticipation, as it were, and getting to know each other in ways other than the sexual. At least at first.”

 

“I thought that was what pillow-talk was for.” This earned Bodhi’s fake-innocent face and hopeful blink a stern-but-secretly-amused look from Galen. “Alright, alright. I’ll be discreet. The discreetest motherfucker on the planet . . . straight-up _Victorian_ -style.”

 

Galen’s lips twitched. “That’s all I ask of you, Little Magpie. Victorian Era discretion. And manners.”

 

Bodhi fake-winced. “It’s good to know your expectations for this relationship are starting off realistically. I feel no pressure at all to be something I’m very much not,” he quipped glibly, dryly, but when Galen leaned in to peck his lips, far from avoiding said peck, Bodhi turned it into a brief—but scorching—make-out session that left them both breathless and panting on each other: Bodhi on Galen’s throat, Galen in Bodhi’s hair.

 

“Is it just _me_ , or does that get _better_ every time we do it?” Bodhi sighed. Galen mustered up a slightly winded chuckle.

 

“I think it’s safe to say it’s _not_ just you, Bodhi.”

 

“Oh. Good.” Bodhi bounced up on his toes to retest that theory, but Galen only allowed this kiss for a few seconds before pulling away, to a chorus of petulant sounds from Bodhi.

 

“We have to get back to the table before Cassian or Jyn come looking for us.”

 

A groan. “But we can’t make-out at the table!” Bodhi whined.

 

“That’s true,” Galen confirmed sanguinely. “But tomorrow—”

 

“Is forever-away!”

 

“ _Tomorrow_ ,” Galen repeated himself firmly, but with twitching lips, once more. “Jyn has work early, then lectures all afternoon. Perhaps . . . you might show me around Jedha City? The Temple, of course . . . and maybe a few places off the beaten-path?” Raised brows accompanied this interrogative. “Some nice, quiet places where we can be alone and . . . talk?”

 

“We can be alone and . . . _talk_ . . . in my bedroom. Especially since Jyn and Cassian are gonna be out all day and I don’t have a class again until Thursday morning,” Bodhi wheedled, nosing and nuzzling Galen’s jawline. “We can _talk_ each other’s _brains out_.”

 

Galen made such a delightfully desperate sound, his hands sliding around and down, to squeeze Bodhi’s ass and pull him tight against Galen’s sturdy body. Bodhi could feel the heat and hardness of him and could only imagine Galen could feel the same. Especially when the nuzzling turned into straightforward, heated kisses that were far beyond teasing and playfulness.

 

It ended only when the nearby sound of a toilet flushing startled them almost out of each other’s arms, once more.

 

Their wide-eyed gazes left each other a moment later when a chic woman in an off-white linen shift and matching stilettos stepped out of the ladies’, not even seeming to notice them. She strode sedately back toward the dining area.

 

“Damn,” Bodhi said sadly, when she was out of earshot. Then shrugged when Galen looked at him questioningly. “She didn’t even wash her hands.”

 

Galen looked nonplussed for a few seconds, then snorted, and began to laugh. Brow furrowing, Bodhi pouted.

 

“What?” he demanded. “I mean, she was in there for, like, a _long_ time. Long enough that some hand-washing isn’t a lot to ask.”

 

But Galen just continued to laugh, pulling Bodhi close again for a warm embrace. “You’re absolutely marvelous and I already adore you far more than is rational.” He kissed Bodhi’s forehead and temples, all while murmuring endearments in Danish.

 

Bodhi hugged Galen back bemusedly, silently hoping that Han wasn’t unlucky enough to be that woman’s server. Though he didn’t say it—no sense in bringing up a man Galen maybe a _little_ right to be jealous over—he sure thought it. If Han _was_ her server, he and his other customers could very well wind up with _e. coli_ and never know why!

 

#

 

It was 1:37a.m. and Bodhi couldn’t sleep for excitement.

 

Mostly, it was anticipation for the next day, like a child waiting up for Santa Claus—a notion of which Miranda had tried to quickly disabuse him when he was six, but hadn’t succeeded until he was eight—but partly, it was because he was too turned-on to sleep, despite being exhausted.

 

All during the companionably silent ride from the _Cantina_ , Galen had dared to sit not only closer to Bodhi in the back seat, but with his hand covering, then holding Bodhi’s in the scant space between their bodies. About halfway back to the hotel, Bodhi had linked their fingers tentatively, earning himself one of Galen’s warmest smiles and the gentle stroking of Galen’s thumb along his pinky.

 

After that, it had been far too soon that they were back at the hotel. Jyn stopped in the standing zone, put Death-Star in park, and engaged the parking brake before hopping out of the car and darting around the back to Galen’s door. Galen, smirking a little, had stolen a quick kiss from the corner of Bodhi’s slightly-open mouth—“I’ll see you in the morning, _lille Magpie_. Bright and early”—then a moment later, he was opening Death-Star’s back passenger side door then closing it after sliding easily out, into Jyn’s waiting hug.

 

Bodhi, his lips still tingling, had blushed as Cassian looked around at him with equal parts exasperation and sarcasm.

 

“Like teenagers,” he’d noted and Bodhi, who’d brought his fingers up to brush the tingling spot Galen had kissed, had smiled goofily.

 

“You’re just mad you finally got a _little taste_ of how the entire world feels about you and Jyn.”

 

“Hardly. Jyn and I are _adorable_. Like two baby bunnies kissing in a large teacup.”

 

“ _Hardly_.” Bodhi had rolled his eyes, then frowned. “Y’know, I can never tell when you’re joking about certain things.”

 

“Just another part of my mysterious allure,” Cassian had said dryly. “But seriously, you and Professor Erso are kind of disturbing and gross together.”

 

“Homophobe says _what_.”

 

Snorting, Cassian had glanced out the passenger window at Galen and Jyn, who were hugging again. “Not being a homophobe, I’ll simply ignore that, but . . . horny, stupid jailbait says _hey_.”

 

“Wh— _hey_!” Bodhi had squawked then, when Cassian started chuckling, blushed as he realized how neatly he’d been caught. “Fuck _you_ , asshole!”

 

Cassian had burst out laughing, so loud and hard, Galen and Jyn had looked back at the car, smiling wonderingly, before shrugging and returning their attention to each other.

 

“You’re _not_ disturbing and gross because you’re both men—I spent the last gasp of my teens and most of my twenties around SEALS, ninety-nine-point nine percent of whom were male, so I’ve seen and done some . . . less than heterosexual things, in my time—it’s disturbing and gross because you’re like Jyn’s little brother. And Galen is Jyn’s father. So . . . it’s a bit . . . incestuous, if looked at from that angle.”

 

“Hey, if it’s good enough for fanfic and the daddy!kink shoe fits. . . .” Bodhi had trailed off placidly. Cassian blinked.

 

“The _what_?”

 

“Never mind, Cass.” Bodhi had been the one to snort, this time. “Anyway, Jyn is _like_ my sister, but the fact is . . . she’s _not_ my sister, by nature _or_ nurture. She’s my _friend_ and Galen . . . _he’s_ my friend, too. With the potential to be _more_.”

 

“And that _more_ . . . that’s truly what you want?” Cassian had asked, sounding disbelieving, still. As if he thought Bodhi was just raring to change his own mind on the matter. “Age difference aside, he’s proven that he can be a jerk. Even if it’s not on purpose. Which I’m not convinced it wasn’t.”

 

“Truuuuue,” Bodhi had dragged the word out. “But then, _I_ can be a jerk, too, so in that way, we’re well-matched.”

 

“You? Please,” Cassian’d scoffed. “The only time I’ve seen you be a jerk in the seventeen months I’ve known you is when we play Mass Effect or when it’s down to the last slice of cheese-lovers’. Other than that, you’re ridiculously good-natured and kind. And you have an unerring moral compass and forgiving nature. You’re _trustworthy_ and earnest. So, the fact is, Galen Erso hasn’t _yet_ realized just how _lucky_ he is to have you. Whether, or not you’re lucky to have him . . . remains to be seen, as far as I’m concerned.”

 

“Aw, you’re so protective and caring, big bro.” Touched and swallowing around the lump in his throat, Bodhi had darted forward and kissed Cassian’s cheek softly. The older man had grumbled, but hadn’t turned away.

 

“You know, I’d kind of been hoping that eventually, Kei would get sick of holing up in that cave he calls an apartment with his friends, the computers. Jyn and I’d thought you and _he_ . . . well. In hindsight, I guess it was a stretch. Kei’s . . . an acquired taste, as you know. And most people don’t really bother to do the acquiring.” Cassian had shaken his head. “And I’m starting to think he may be asexual, anyway. He’s thirty-two and probably still a virgin.”

 

“Just because he’s picky about who he does the do with, he’s Ace?” Bodhi had quirked a stern eyebrow. “I call cis-het privilege and assumptions.” Bodhi'd said. (He'd met Kei several times and had always assumed the man had a weird crush on Cassian. If Kei was even capable of such a common emotion.)

 

Cassian had rolled his eyes. “It’s not just the virginity thing. He’s also said he’d rather spend his free time working on his coding than trying to ‘experience the fleeting spell of coitus.’ And that he’d rather cut his own ‘member’ off than stick it in anyone’s ‘orifices.’”

 

Bodhi had burst out laughing and Cassian joined him a few seconds later. It was a good minute before Bodhi could speak around his giggles. “Yeah, Kei might be Ace. And Aro. And . . . possibly an android? Because . . . who even says _member_ and _orifices_?”

 

“You’d be amazed at some of the things that come out of Kei’s mouth. He’s . . . a character.”

 

“One _you and Jyn_ wanted to pair me off with. For sha—”

 

Then Bodhi and Cassian had caught a flash of motion at the front of the car. A few moments later, Jyn was sliding back into the driver’s seat and buckling up, grinning big and happy as she leaned over to buss Cassian’s cheek where Bodhi had just a minute before. Out the rear passenger side window, Galen had been staring at Death-Star—rather, _into_ Death-Star, and right at Bodhi, who’d blushed and smiled, waving at Galen—as Jyn put the car into gear and, with a wave that Galen returned with both hands, one aimed at her and one at Bodhi, she’d sped off.

 

Now, with the entire apartment building utterly silent, but for the white-noise sound of the central air, Bodhi lay in the dark, in his tented-out boxers and nothing else, staring at the clock-radio and waiting for it to be morning.

 

(Which, at 2:09a.m., it technically _was_ , but not in any way that _Bodhi_ could use.)

 

Finally, after an eternal eternity of staring alternately out his window and at the digital read-out, he snatched his phone up off his night table, unplugged it from the charger, unlocked it, and began dialing.

 

 _This_ number, he knew by heart, besides having it on his speed dial as number four ( _one_ , being Miranda; _two_ , being Jyn; and _three_ , being Cassian). When the line engaged, Bodhi put the phone on speaker.

 

Two and a half rings in and Galen’s low, but entirely alert voice sounded in the silence of his room: “Bodhi . . . is everything alright?”

 

“Not really,” Bodhi answered, thrilled that Galen had not only saved his number, but had probably given him a ringtone. “There’s a persistent and outstanding problem on my end, and I was wondering if _you_ were facing the _same_ problem. And I was hoping maybe we could . . . solve our problems _together_.”

 

A long, silent beat before Galen spoke, his tone gone lower and rougher. “I can’t sleep, either.”

 

Grinning, now, Bodhi wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, and levered himself up so he could push his boxers down and kick them off. “Galen, I’m so hard for you, right now, it’s _killin’_ _me_. I just _need to hear your voice_ to get me all the way there.”

 

The soft groan this caused turned into a chuckle. “You’re all I’ve been thinking about since Jyn nearly broke the sound barrier leaving the _Ramada_. The scent of your gorgeous skin, the bright darkness of your eyes. The luscious curve of your lips. . . .”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Still grinning and knowing that grin was in his voice, Bodhi took himself in hand with a soft, relieved sigh. “Tell me what _else_ you were thinking about me.”

 

Another chuckle. “Shall I tell you in Danish or English?”

 

“Dick.”

 

“Not an option, at this moment in time. Furthermore, I think that instead of riling you up further with phone-sex, I may just tell you a bedtime story, pretty Magpie. . . .”

 

“ _Galen_ ,” Bodhi breathed impatiently, in a voice that shook and cracked. Galen, himself, made a _very_ interesting noise in response, and Bodhi could hear the rustle of cloth on the other end of the line. “I really _don’t_ wanna hear a _bedtime sto_ —”

 

“Danish folklore has some fascinating characters and creatures about which there are many stories. Creatures such as the _Nisse_ —which you might call _Hobs_ or _Brownies_.”

 

Arching up into his own urgent, hot touch, Bodhi moaned, biting into his lower lip as his eyes fluttered closed. On their velvet-dark backs he could see Galen’s face. His smile. His eyes. His _hands_. “ _Gaaaaalen_ . . . _please_. . . .”

 

“And there are the _Huldre_ . . . beautiful, seductive creatures who live in the forest,” Galen went on in a calm, but noticeably thick voice. “They’re very friendly to men—”

 

“Even when those men play hard-to-get and won’t give them what they need _so badly_. . . ?”

 

“Is that what you want to be, Bodhi? My own personal _Huldre_? Keeping my fire lit, and me safe and sound through the lonely watches of the night?” Galen asked, his voice tight with control and even with solemnity.

 

“Yes. . . .” Bodhi hissed, hovering near the edge and needing just a small push to go over . . . he only wished he knew what that push _was_. . . .

 

A long, long silence, broken only by Bodhi’s light, fast breathing and Galen’s slower, but heavier breathing. And then Galen made a rumbling sound.

 

“What I’ve thought about, since watching Death-Star drive off, was laying you down in my nice, soft hotel-bed, naked and hard, and begging me to make you feel like I did this afternoon,” Galen finally said, his voice shaking just slightly. He was close, just like Bodhi was, and just that thought made the slippery slide of Bodhi’s hand up and down his cock that much more slippery. Every so often, he’d run the pad of his thumb across the tip, slow and hard, pausing to tease the slit, then go back to his stroking with a stuttered exhalation. “I’ve imagined learning your body by taste . . . every inch of you, every crevice. And I’ve pretended—oh, how I’ve _pretended_ —that my hand is your body, clenching around me so tight and hot and welcoming. That every shudder of pleasure I experienced was shared by you—that it was _your pleasure_ that was making me respond so quickly and intensely. Bodhi, _min dejlige lille nymfe_ , tell me you feel the same. . . .”

 

“I _do_ , Galen, I _so_ do . . . I wanna feel you on top of me, inside me, just _all over me_. You make me feel _so good_ that, even when it hurts, it still feels . . . _amazing_. Like the best thing _ever_. Is that what it’ll feel like, too, when it’s your dick, instead of your fingers? Like . . . everything I ever wanted but didn’t know I needed till I _got_ it? Like you _own_ me in all the best, sweetest, and _dirtiest_ ways? Like I was made for nothing so much as I was made to give your body pleasure and your dick a place to call _home_?” Bodhi let go of his cock to slide his wet fingers down past his balls. Knees in the air, he brushed along the sensitive skin of his perineum and circled his hole like Galen had done. “Will it feel like—”

 

“Bodhi, _elskov_ , I’m—” Galen gasped out, then there was a _loud_ groan that Bodhi’s body instinctively responded to, clenching and clamping down on the two slick fingers he suddenly pushed inside himself. He didn’t even find his prostate, like Galen had, before he was coming, too, spatters of come landing on his abdomen and stomach as he moaned, and gasped and panted Galen’s name.

 

The second last thing Bodhi heard when his orgasm ended and consciousness began to seriously recede, was Galen’s tired, breathless chuckle, fond and amazed, as he murmured something in Danish that sounded tender and gentle.

 

“Galen,” Bodhi murmured, his eyes closed and consciousness mostly fled . . . though he was fighting to stay awake . . . at least long enough to thank his lover for the most _awesome_ —and _only_ —phone-sex he’d ever had. “ _Galen_ ,” he managed a second time, before huffing out a mostly-asleep snort. “ _Whuh_?”

 

“Sleep well, Little Magpie.”

 

And the _very_ _last_ thing Bodhi heard was Galen’s chuckles, which followed him into a deep and dreamless sleep. The best sleep Bodhi Rook had had in a _long_ time.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still elbows-deep in two months worth of back-comments. But I'm getting there. Thank you for reading and commenting. You guys make this sick, ol' bug's virus-ridden heart <3
> 
> Say "hi!" on [Tumblr](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	10. The On-Purpose Tourists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. NC-17 for this chapter.

**“All really great flying adventures begin at dawn.”** **  
―** **Stephen Coonts**

 

“What,” Jyn began, yawning as she straggled into the kitchen, wearing one of Cassian’s long, Navy-branded t-shirts and probably nothing else. Bodhi, spatulaing scrambled eggs out of the fancy frying pan Jyn and Cassian had bought for the house but never used, grinned at his still-half-asleep roomie as she tried and failed to cover her entire yawn with her slim and apparently smaller-than-her-mouth hand. Then she was staring at the kitchen table as one dazed, her round hazel eyes wide and starry. “What in the bloody hell is all _this_?”

 

Bodhi followed Jyn’s gaze to the table, which was covered in breakfast foods: a plate piled fairly high with nearly all the bacon they had; two big mugs of coffee; a tall, haphazard stack of buckwheat flapjacks; three plates already sporting fairly large portions of scrambled eggs; and last, but not least, Bodhi’s homemade, seasoned home fries, mixed with sliced onions and bits of green pepper.

 

Looking up, Bodhi shrugged. “Breakfast,” he said dismissively, dishing up the last of the eggs—cheesy, onion-y, pepper-y, and sriracha-y—and turning to deposit the pan on the stove for dealing with later. Then he moved the rest of the other prep and cooking materials to the sink. “It’s the most important meal of the day, or so I’ve heard.”

 

Jyn yawned again, from the sound, then scraped out a chair, making ready to sit. “Please tell me you’re wearing underwear,” Bodhi said, glancing over his shoulder as Jyn, halfway to sitting, froze. She straightened, her face pink, as she pushed her usual chair back and flashed Bodhi a winning, if sleepy grin.

 

“Right. So, I’m just going to wake Cassian before I, er, tuck into this lovely breakfast, shall I?”

 

“You do that,” Bodhi agreed indulgently, but rolling his eyes as he sat down in his own customary spot.

 

Five minutes later, wearing Cassian’s t-shirt and a pair of cut-off jeans, Jyn bounced back into the kitchen, clearly more awake. Cassian—very much _not_ a morning person—stumbled after, muttering to himself and rubbing at his unshaven jaw. His eyes were barely open, and only partly because of the eastern exposure of the apartment windows and the sunrise painting the main room and kitchen orange and rose-gold. He was wearing one of Jyn’s retro band t-shirts, this one bearing the cover to the ELO album _Out of the Blue_ , and a pair of sweats that bagged and sagged on his slim frame.

 

Bodhi—also, normally, not a morning person—dimpled at his roommate and swept out a welcoming hand. “Mornin’, Sunshine! Pop a squat and dig in! Everything’s still steaming-hot!”

 

“Just the way Jyn _likes_ it!” Jyn sat and immediately helped herself to bacon. Cassian, still muttering, did the same, only he helped himself to the pancakes, first.

 

“Y’know . . . I could put on a pot of coffee for ya, Cass,” Bodhi offered, snagging a piece of bacon before helping himself to the home fries. Cassian, now staring at the pile of bacon as if he’d never before seen its like, grunted. Jyn, smiling indulgently, nudged the platter of bacon closer to her fiancé, who grunted again (it sounded like _dangks_ ). “I don’t mind.”

 

“Quitting. Still quitting,” Cassian said tersely, then yawned and reached for a handful of bacon. A minute later, he’d made a pancake-burrito, filled with bacon, home fries, and eggs—covered liberally in more sriracha . . . they went through the stuff at an astronomical rate, thanks to Cassian and Bodhi—and was bringing the rolled creation to his mouth to take a measured, efficient bite.

 

“That’s weird. You know that, right, Cass?” Bodhi said, adding home fries to his own egged and flapjacked plate. Last, but not least, he added bacon. Then covered everything in the fancy, _Trader Joe’s_ maple syrup Jyn and Cassian grumbled about, but paid for anyway. Then, mushing everything together into one yellow-brown-dark red mélange—covered in expensive tree sugar-goo—he dug in. Two blissful mouthfuls later, he looked up to see Cassian staring at him with squinty perturbance, Jyn with outright disgust and horror. “What?”

 

“How can you even enjoy food when it’s all been churned together like someone already ate it?” Jyn asked, shaking her messy, pixie-cut head before looking down at her own strictly regimented plate, on which everything had its place . . . including a small, but spreading puddle of syrup, which was inching its careful way toward her bacon. Jyn noticed, and moved the bacon behind a barrier of half-eaten flapjack. “How have I known you _this long_ and not divined the _motive_ for your madness?”

 

“Gross,” Cassian added succinctly, applying himself to his own burritoed breakfast with renewed diligence. He seemed a bit more awake, now.

 

“It’s all going to the same place, anyway.” Bodhi shrugged. He’d had this conversation with Jyn—and with Miranda—a million times in his life. “And I like the way they taste together.”

 

“Well, I like the way chocolate and spaghetti carbonara taste, but you won’t catch me eating them in the same mouthful, let alone mashing them all together into one, unrecognizable brown paste,” Jyn reasoned, taking a dainty bite of her home fries. Bodhi rolled his eyes again. “I don’t understand how you A) cook so well, with such gusto, then B) waste all that effort by making mud-pies with your food.”

 

“Not like it doesn’t all end up in the sewer, anyway.” Another shrug.

 

“Gross,” Cassian said again, having reduced his burrito by three-fifths.

 

“Or the grave,” Jyn asserted, fork paused halfway between her lips and the plate, home fries balanced copiously and dangerously on the edges of the tines. “What matters is what we do before we get there and how we do it. And how we enjoy our food before it winds up in a waste treatment plant.”

 

Chuckling, Bodhi shoveled another forkful of eggy, bacon-y, potato-y, flapjack-y, maple syrup-inundated goodness into his mouth, humming happily as he chewed, just to annoy Jyn, who was the one to roll her eyes, this time. “Agreed. But I don’t like my life or my food neatly labeled and parceled out,” he said once he’d swallowed. “I like all the good, tasty stuff mixed together like a wonderful symphony of _awesomeness_. I want all my good stuff at the same time.”

 

“What about enjoying one thing in the moment? Living in that moment and appreciating that _one_ _thing_ with _all_ your attention?” Jyn asked, eyebrows raised as she finally took her bite. Bodhi grinned.

 

“I _always_ enjoy the moment. In fact, I enjoy several of them at a time . . . each one fully and joyously.”

 

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jyn insisted.

 

“Eh,” Cassian eloquently disagreed, reaching for the makings of a second burrito, the first having been methodically devoured with military precision and efficacy. “I don’t agree with _mushing_ different pleasures together, but a little _fraternizing_ of . . . certain pleasures isn’t a terrible thing.”

 

And Cassian sent Jyn a look that made her roll her eyes again—in exasperation—even as she blushed. Bodhi shuddered.

 

“If you guys could keep your creepy, heterosexual innuendos out of my innocent, queer kitchen, that’d just be swell.”

 

Jyn’s cheeks burned and Cassian smirked. Then yawned.

 

“So, what’re your plans for the day, Bodhi?” Jyn asked in a rather indelicate change of subject, for her. Bodhi’s cheeks were the ones to go up in flames, now.

 

“Oh! Um, well. I was gonna, uh, hang out around town. With Gal—um, your Dad.” Bodhi was red about the face. Probably red enough that it showed. And sure enough, he’d garnered Cassian’s singular attention, the second breakfast burrito frozen halfway to his gaping maw. His dark eyes were intent on Bodhi’s face.

 

Jyn, however, was eating primly, but happily, eyes on her plate as she made another syrup-blockade out of flapjacks and corralled her eggs with bacon. Then she forked up some of the self-same eggs and took a bite, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “That’s spectacular! I was afraid Dads’d be at loose ends for the next few days, since Saw has me so busy before and after the elopement, until the honeymoon.” Jyn flashed her bright smile at Cassian—who was now staring at his burrito as if it’d vexed him—then turned to Bodhi, that smile still there and warmer than the sun lighting the apartment. “But you and he seem to get along swimmingly—and he has nothing but nice things to say about you, Bodhi.”

 

“That’s . . . that’s cool,” Bodhi replied lamely. Cassian cleared his throat and put his burrito down, but didn’t say anything. “Gal—er, Professor Erso is a real cool guy.”

 

“Oh,” Jyn waved a hand dismissively. “No one calls him _Professor_. He’s just _Galen_ to everyone—except Uncle Art, who habitually and fondly calls him things that’d make a sailor blush—up to and including his students. And you’re officially his _friend_ , to hear him talk about you, so he’d _definitely_ want you to call him by his first name.”

 

“Oh-kay . . . that’s good, that Prof—that _Galen_ and I are . . . _friends_.” Bodhi looked down at his own be-syruped plate and pushed around the mush that was his breakfast. “So, um . . . what exactly did Galen say _about_ me. . . ?”

 

“If you’d like, sweetheart, I could take a break from work on the project—I’m sure Kei’ll be happier working without me bugging him constantly—and shepherd your father around Jedha for a few days,” Cassian said quietly to Jyn, but his eyes kept sliding to Bodhi, thoughtfully. “Maybe take him to the university and show him around.”

 

“That’s sweet of you to offer, love, but . . . well, Dads and Bodhi get along _so well_ , and . . . well, you may not think I’ve noticed the way you two look at each other—like two dogs guarding the same bone—but I _have_.” Jyn gave Cassian an amused look. “And it’s wonderful to know that two of the most important men in my life are so honorable and protective. But in pursuit of being honorable men, they both become complete buttheads.”

 

Cassian’s mouth dropped open. “Jyn!”

 

“Oh, now, don’t be insulted, Cassian—but it _is_ true. And it’s not just _you_ , it’s Dads, too, isn’t that right, Bodhi?”

 

“Um. . . .”

 

“You two are, to my dismay, astonishingly alike, hence you don’t get on as easily as you should. Not as easily as _Bodhi_ and Dads do. Opposites attract, after all.” Jyn chuckled, and both Bodhi and Cassian paled instantly.

 

“Um, wh-when you s-say _attract_ —” Bodhi started to stammer, but Cassian interrupted him, hand held up.

 

“Look, I know I may have been a bit . . . grumpy, last night,” he began evenly, but Jyn interrupted _him_.

 

“You were, at times, almost forbidding and hostile,” she snapped, eyes narrowing and smile fading to a purse-lipped frown. “I don’t think you and Dads, spending days together in awkward, eventually resentful silence will help matters.”

 

“Now, we don’t resent each—”

 

“Not yet, but you _will_.” Jyn looked briefly to Bodhi for agreement and he could only smile uncomfortably. “ _You_ , my love, will resent being away from the project and worry about _Kei_ —who we both know can’t be trusted as far as he can be thrown when it comes to _not_ working himself into the ground—and Dads, who’s never met a vacation-day he liked, will resent being treated like a child and squired around Jedha by the man who’s sleeping with his daughter.”

 

Both Bodhi and Cassian shuddered and made faces, but Cassian, at least, was composed enough to speak. “I could stand to take a few days off from both the project _and_ Kei. Especially if it means getting to know and warming up to my fiancée’s father. I can think of no more worthwhile use of my time, Jyn.”

 

Jyn’s frown slowly turned into a smitten smile and Bodhi, almost smiling, himself, mouthed: _NICE_ , at Cassian, who’s mouth quirked just a tiny bit.

 

“Awww . . . as sweet and manipulative as you are, my dear, my mind’s made up. And so’s Bodhi’s, right?” Jyn blinked those big hazel eyes at Bodhi and he nodded, despite Cassian’s disapproving frown seen from the corner of his eye. “Excellent!” Jyn decided, turning back to her plate. “Really, it’s a no-brainer. Dads is comfortable around Bodhi and vice versa. And Bodhi’s schedule is a bit freer than either of ours, so he’s the logical choice to show Dads around and make sure he has a good time.”

 

This time, Bodhi was the one to clear his throat. Then he glared warningly at Cassian who’d, with a familiar, amused twinkle in his eye, opened his mouth to make some sort of weird double entendre.

 

“Yes. I’m certain that with Bodhi taking him firmly in hand, your father will have the time of his life,” he murmured, plucking up a piece of bacon from the serving platter and crunching on it with suspect innocence. Jyn, however, didn’t seem to notice, smiling benevolently between her fiancé and her best friend.

 

Bodhi quickly sipped at his scalding cup of coffee to keep from giving Cassian Andor a sound piece of his mind.

 

The rest of breakfast went peacefully, Jyn chattering about her work with Saw, Cassian asking in-depth questions every few minutes—he really _was_ a good fiancé and would make a stellar husband—and Bodhi was left mostly nodding in agreement randomly, staring into space and grinning. And thinking about the day ahead.

 

#

 

“Good morning!” Galen said, all wide, bright smile and twinkly amusement as he hopped into [Rogue One](https://vimages2.carsforsale.com/3/1000100/239633/thumb/1695752.jpg), and leaned in to kiss Bodhi’s cheek. Bodhi, having hoped for just this greeting, turned his face at the last second and caught the kiss on his lips, turning it into something about two-thirds of the way between a hello-kiss and the kind of _I-missed-you_ soul-kiss of the type seen only in movies. Or between Cassian and Jyn.

 

Well before they needed oxygen or grew bored of kissing each other, an impatient honk from behind them—Rogue took up at least two spaces in the busy standing-zone in front of the _Ramada_ —made them part regretfully, teasing their way out of the kiss with apologetic, but promising smiles.

 

“Good morning to you, too, Professor,” Bodhi murmured, trying to convey every ounce of desire flooding him with just his voice, since there was a layer of dark glass between his eyes and Galen’s. But maybe the conveying worked, because Galen turned pink and his smile grew just a bit smug and coy. “And _thanks_ to you, too.”

 

Galen, still smiling, placed his mid-sized, light-brown satchel in the space between their seats and just behind Rogue’s gearbox. Even in the dimness of the VW bus’s interior, his hazel-grey eyes seemed to glow. “Told you I tell a mean bedtime story,” he murmured back, his gaze gone half-lidded and measuring. Bodhi flushed, too, biting his lower lip.

 

“That, you do, Professor. That, you do.” Sighing, Bodhi reached out to brush a trailer of fringe out of Galen’s face, his fingertips lingering gently on the warm, soft skin of his temple and the beat of his pulse. “You’re _amazing_.”

 

“I could and will say the same of you, Bodhi Rook: You’re an amazing young man. Smart and funny, sweet and absolutely beautiful.” Galen leaned into Bodhi’s touch, his eyes now wide open and _wide_ _open_ , full of feeling and fondness. “And the sounds you make when you come are . . . the most sexually arousing and completely _addictive_ sounds I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing.”

 

Flushing deeper, Bodhi looked down, but he was still smiling. “I probably sound like I’m having an asthma attack on top of a panic attack.”

 

“No . . . I wouldn’t say that at all, Little Magpie.”

 

Risking another glance over at Galen, it was to see the other man leaning in again. Bodhi met him halfway, this time, meaning to kiss Galen silly. But there was another annoyed honk behind them and they froze, lips mere millimeters apart.

 

“Perhaps we should get going,” Galen suggested with a disappointed sigh. Bodhi smirked and closed the slight distance between them again, stealing a brief, but thorough kiss that left them both trying to catch their breaths while attempting to maintain the tantalizing contact.

 

“Perhaps we should,” Bodhi finally panted, trailing a final series of kisses along Galen’s jaw, nuzzling into the smoothness of freshly-shaven skin and the masculine, slightly astringent scent of Galen’s aftershave. “I’ve got a full day planned for us.”

 

“Do you, now?” An innocent question, loaded with suggestiveness in Galen’s low, slightly rumbling tone.

 

“Yep.” Chuckling, Bodhi sat back and re-buckled his seatbelt. And Galen buckled his.

 

“I don’t suppose you care to enlighten me as to the day’s itinerary?”

 

“Nope.” Glancing at Galen from the corner of his eye, Bodhi snorted. “I believe in the power of a pleasant surprise.”

 

“Nothing could beat the surprise I got yesterday, when I stepped into the terminal, for pleasantness and sheer wonder.”

 

Bodhi turned a startled, full-on look at Galen, who was smiling out the windshield as if he hadn’t just rocked Bodhi’s world damn-near off its axis.

 

Yet another honk from behind them startled Bodhi again, this time into action. He threw his best gal into gear and pulled carefully into early-morning-commute traffic.

 

They were on their way.

 

#

 

Their first stop was the East Side of Jedha—the artsy, bohemian quadrant—and the several flea markets and small wares-fairs that could be randomly found there when the weather permitted.

 

Bodhi left Rogue parked and cooling down at a municipal lot a few avenues over from the first few vendor-dotted streets, selling everything from sterling-silver and turquoise jewelry to strange electronics to rugs and carpets. Galen, with all the excitement of an amateur sociologist, took Bodhi’s hand at the first sight of the hook-rugs and mats sold by an older Mestiza vendor, and dragged him over, already going on about the process by which hook-rugs were made.

 

Shortly thereafter, Bodhi found himself staring on in amusement as Galen held a conversation in Spanish with the vendor—who had a lovely smile despite there not being a single tooth in sight—then haggled a bit over three small rugs and a large mat that had a beautiful, minimalist rendering of the Old Temple at the center of the city.

 

Not too terribly long after that, Galen and Bodhi made a quick trip back to Rogue to stow Galen’s purchases of five small rugs and two mats—the second one was of an arid, but colorful mesa at sunset—out of the harsh sun, then they were on their way back toward the center of the artsy commerce.

 

During all of this, Galen hadn’t once let go of Bodhi’s hand.

 

#

 

By eleven-thirty, they were both laden with bags full of trinkets and gadgets and gew-gaws.

 

Bodhi, getting thirsty, suggested they stop at the next food vendor they passed and sample some of the local lemonade—as tart and refreshing as it was sweet and energizing—and maybe some fried dough and funnel cake. Galen, still holding his hand, their fingers linked comfortably, smiled and leaned in to peck Bodhi’s cheek and buss his lips, lingering without regard for any eyes that might be on them. Bodhi felt a thrill that streaked from his brain, to the surface of his skin, causing every hair on his body to stand on end.

 

“Lemonade sounds lovely, _min engel_ ,” he murmured, smiling on Bodhi’s lips before leaning back to look around. “Oh, I think I see a kebab stand just over there.”

 

“Super,” Bodhi breathed, still caught up and lost in even those small, simple kisses. Galen, meanwhile, was looking off to his right, now, diagonally across from the kebab stand. There was an expression of surprise on his square, handsome face for a few moments before he dug out his wallet. “Meat-on-a-stick’s always good for fast prote—”

 

“Here,” Galen suddenly said absently, taking out two crisp twenties and handing them to Bodhi. “You place the orders and I’ll meet you over there in just a few minutes. Okay?”

 

“Oh-kay,” Bodhi exhaled to no one at all, because Galen was already gone, striding off to his right and whatever interesting wares had caught his eye. Bodhi watched the older man—ridiculously sexy in his dark jeans, brown vest, and blue, button-down chambray shirt—stride quickly, with his customary determination, to a small stall next to a vendor with several quilts on display.

 

Whatever had caught Galen’s eyes was shiny and small and there were lots of other small-shinys like it.

 

Bodhi snorted. “Right, babe. But _I’m_ the magpie?”

 

It was less than ten minutes later that Bodhi stood to the side of the kebab stand, at a small table set up by the vendor and on which were condiments, napkins, and extra cartons and utensils. His and Galen’s kebabs sat in their shiny tin-foil, next to two large pink lemonades, and an extra-large carton of fries for them to share. Bodhi was trying to consolidate his bags of purchases into one or two bags, instead of six, when Galen finally made a reappearance. He was flushed and grinning, his eyes bright and anticipatory. Bodhi’s brows lifted and he smiled.

 

“Don’t _you_ look like the cat that got the canary?”

 

Galen chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve got something nice for you,” he said playfully. Bodhi snorted, dropping his bags on the table next to their order, and stepped closer to Galen.

 

“I _know_ you do. And believe me: I can’t wait till you _give it to me_ ,” he whispered, leaning in to nuzzle Galen’s cheek. The older man made a soft, happy sound low in his throat and wrapped his free arm—on the other shoulder was his stuffed satchel and two small plastic bags in his hand—around Bodhi’s waist, pulling him flush and tight.

 

“ _Bodhi_ ,” Galen rumbled hoarsely, leaning his forehead against Bodhi’s. The younger man smirked.

 

“Fast and hard and deep,” he added, and was gratified by the way Galen’s eyes fluttered shut and by the nearly inaudible groan that accompanied the flutter.

 

“You don’t make it easy to behave in public, Little Magpie.” Galen’s hand, which had settled lightly at the small of Bodhi’s back, slid slowly down to rest just on the curve of his ass. “Not easy at all.”

 

“Good,” Bodhi said, bouncing up on his toes to kiss Galen’s lips. Galen held the kiss, humming into it, lingering, his tongue darting out to tease  and lap at Bodhi’s lips.

 

“You taste sweet and tart,” he murmured when he’d basically turned Bodhi’s already-weak knees to gelatin. “I just want to eat you up.”

 

“What’s stoppin’ ya?”

 

“Very little, I must say. Certainly, not much in the way of propriety. You’ve been a terrible influence on me,” Galen sighed without any regret then, with a quick, small, final kiss and a discreet squeeze of Bodhi’s backside, let go and took a few deliberate steps back, adjusting his jeans—also discreetly, but Bodhi had already felt that Galen had been getting hard, during their make-out session in front of a quarter of Jedha City—and smiling that apologetic smile again. Bodhi mirrored it.

 

“Being a terrible influence is my specialty. That, and general geekery,” Bodhi affirmed, in case Galen had somehow missed that memo. The other man chuckled and reached out to brush a trailer of Bodhi’s hair, which was in a messy, haphazard man-bun, behind his right ear. Then he blinked and grinned.

 

“See? I almost forgot the nice thing I got you—which is _not_ any part of my anatomy, Magpie, be quiet a moment,” Galen was quick to add when Bodhi opened his mouth to interrupt. Galen put his index finger over Bodhi’s lips to silence him, then his eyes widened as Bodhi kitten-licked his finger before sucking it into his mouth for a few heart-racing seconds.

 

Their eyes met as Bodhi slowly eased off the silencing digit with a lascivious slurp of tongue and a noisy _pop!_

 

“A terrible influence and an evil tease,” Galen breathed, tracing Bodhi’s lips twice with his wet finger before letting his hand drop to his side in a helpless, hapless fashion. Then he was clearing his throat and digging in one of the small bags he carried. “Nope, other one,” he muttered to himself, pulling his hand out after a tiny, metallic _clink_! Then he was searching the other bag, smiling as he pulled out something small enough to fit in his closed fist. “Hold out your hand and close your eyes, Magpie.”

 

Bodhi’s brows quirked again. “Uh. . . .”

 

“I promise, it’s a _good_ surprise. I’m not holding a toad or a handful of worms.”

 

“Well, I didn’t think you were, till you said that,” Bodhi replied mildly, but held out his right hand and closed his eyes obediently. Then he pushed up his shades and held out his hand again. “Okay, Professor, they’re closed: hit me.”

 

After several seconds, Galen’s large, warm hand closed gently around Bodhi’s, pulling it up to Galen’s face. Galen kissed Bodhi’s knuckles, then his palm, before pulling said palm to his cheek for a few moments.

 

“ _Galen_ ,” Bodhi whispered, his voice catching and his Adam’s-apple bobbing.

 

“I’ve never been gladder or luckier to have come to my senses than I was last night. And I’m _still_ glad. I have a feeling I _always_ will be, Bodhi. And I’m grateful to you for your patience, grateful to whatever gods there are for their providence—and even grateful to that Hans-fellow for kicking my jealousy into gear, which drove home just how much I want you and want to be with you. How much I want you to want the same.” Galen paused to kiss Bodhi’s palm again before something cool and metallic touched the tip of his ring finger, then slipped _around_ his finger. Slid on like a ring—

 

“Okay. Open those lovely eyes and tell me what you think,” Galen said, letting go of Bodhi’s hand just as Bodhi, in a state of extreme shock, did as he was bidden.

 

“Oh!” he said, blinking and squinting a little because of the bright morning sunshine, but still able to see the [boldly-designed, but otherwise stark sterling ring](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/64/bd/f8/64bdf8f2fff92c30c921e198eb4a62f0.jpg) resting perfectly on his finger. “Oh, _Galen_!”

 

“Do you . . . like it?” Galen’s normal voice, but with undertones of uncertainty and hope. Bodhi could only stare at the ring, which winked and flashed with clean, white light even in the bright, lemon-yellow sunshine.

 

“ _Like_ it?” Bodhi sniffled and before he could even manage to tear his slightly-watery gaze from the ring, he was flinging his arms around Galen’s neck and hugging the life out of him. He kissed a chuckling Galen’s cheek then looked at the ring some more over Galen’s shoulder. “It’s fucking _gorgeous_! Oh, my God! Wow!”

 

“Not too . . . presumptuous of a first date-gift, is it?” Galen asked gruffly, wrapping his arms around Bodhi’s waist, his lips pressing tender kisses to Bodhi’s temple.

 

“Not at all—only presumptuous if you’d put the ring on my _left_ ring finger.”

 

“Wha— _oh_.” Bodhi smirked at the deep blush in Galen’s tone and the way the cheek pressed to his face warmed noticeably. “Oh. Yes. That might’ve been . . . a bit awkward. And premature.”

 

“Maybe,” Bodhi allowed softly, quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I’d have said _no_.”

 

Galen stiffened for a moment, then his arms around Bodhi tightened for eternal moments . . . before they eased and Galen leaned back to search Bodhi’s eyes. But Bodhi avoided his gaze, instead eyeing the ring. 

 

“It’s so beautiful,” he said, turning his hand to study the ring in more detail. “The designs carved into the band are _bitchin’_.”

 

Galen smiled. “Those aren’t designs, actually. They’re runes. _Viking_ runes.”

 

“You—” Bodhi blinked up at Galen, who seemed both proud and satisfied. “You, a descendant of Vikings and mere visitor to this fair, Southwestern city, managed to find swag with _Viking_ _runes_ on it? In the middle of a city that’s a weird mix of Native American, Spanish, Japanese, and Chinese cultures?”

 

“What can I say? It’s one of my skills.” Galen shrugged elegantly, pulling Bodhi a little closer once more. “I wind up stumbling across the Younger Futhark—that’s what the runes are called—wherever I go. Jyn inherited that . . . talent, as well.”

 

Bodhi gazed at the ring with some wonder while Galen laughed, and smiled. He _liked_ the way Galen’s culture looked on his finger. “So . . . what do these runes together mean? Give me a quick and dirty lesson in the Younger Futhark.”

 

Galen’s mouth twitched at the corners and he turned his head toward Bodhi’s hand, which was close to his face . . . close enough to kiss the index finger lightly, so Galen did. “Essentially, _min elskov_ , they mean: _Tænk på mig, jeg tænker på dig. Elsker mig, jeg elsker dig_.”

 

Bodhi nodded, and waited for a translation for almost a minute, until Galen began to smirk. Then Bodhi huffed and pouted. “C’mon, Professor, you _know_ I don’t speak Italian. . . .”

 

Bursting out in a loud, attention-drawing lauhg, Galen leaned in to kiss Bodhi’s lips then the tip of his nose. “Maybe if you’re on your absolute _best_ behavior . . . I’ll tell you later.”

 

Still pouting, Bodhi made puppy-eyes—though he was certain his eyes were probably already very red from exposure to the sun—and sighed. “How late is _later_? And what constitutes _best_ behavior?”

 

“Well, now, that would be telling, wouldn’t it, Little Magpie?”

 

“Dick!” Bodhi exclaimed, laughing, too, as he swatted Galen’s shoulder. Galen winked and squeezed Bodhi’s waist.

 

“Just for that, you’re going to have to be extra- _extra_ -well-behaved if you want me to tell you what the runes mean in English,” Galen informed him with faux-sadness. Bodhi rolled his eyes and leaned in to whisper:

 

“Fine, then, Professor. How ‘bout we go back to Rogue and I suck your dick in her back seat? How’s _that_ for extra- _extra_ -well-behaved?”

 

Galen’s mouth dropped open and Bodhi managed to somehow keep from smirking again, batting his eyes innocently, widening them thought the sunlight made that a somewhat painful and irritating affect.

 

“I promise to swallow every drop, too,” he added earnestly, licking his lips slowly, with just a hint of tongue poking out to do so. Galen’s eyes tracked the movement, clearly riveted. “Unless you’d prefer it if I _shared_ with ya— _ngyah_!”

 

Then, almost twenty yards away from the kebab stand and dragging Bodhi back in the direction from whence they’d come, Galen finally let _himself_ be dragged back to said stand so Bodhi could grab their lunch and the rest of the things they’d bought.

 

Then they were running, laughing and holding hands once more, for the municipal lot and Rogue One.

 

#

 

Galen stowed their newly-acquired trinkets, tchotchkes, and lunch away, next to the rugs and mats on the first seat behind the driver’s and passenger’s seats.

 

Bodhi, meanwhile, was leaning into the front passenger side door, on the seat, placing his sunglasses on the dash, and his and Galen’s pink lemonades in the rigged cup-holder he’d set up back when he’d first bought Rogue. He’d taken a few sips from his own lemonade to wet his whistle, then placed the cup next to Galen’s, when the other man pulled him back out of Rogue, off the running board, and into his arms. Bodhi laughed as Galen kissed the back of his head, then his nape, then behind his ear, humming happily, a promising hard-on pressed against Bodhi’s ass.

 

“Someone’s eager,” Bodhi drawled, closing the front passenger door and tilting his head to the side so Galen could lay a trail of tingling, biting kisses down to his collar. “If I didn’t know better, Professor Erso, I’d swear there was something you wanted. . . .”

 

“Hmm,” was Galen’s eloquent reply, one hand settling on Bodhi’s stomach, the other over the slightly distended front of his black cargo shorts. Bodhi’s breath caught in his throat, only to emerge seconds later—when Galen began squeezing and stroking him through the suddenly inconvenient shorts—as a choked-off grunt.

 

“Back of the bus,” he panted out, grinding back against Galen then thrusting into his no-nonsense grip. “Back seat, remember?”

 

“Too far away.”

 

“True. But then . . . the alternative is me blowing you next to a five-thousand-years-old, brown Honda Accord.” Bodhi gasped as Galen bit a hickey into the base of his neck. “ _Fuck_. _Not_ the most romantic of locales, Professor.”

 

“But the back of a VW Bus _is_?” Galen puffed on the damp skin of Bodhi’s throat, amusement and desire warring in his low voice.

 

“Romantic as _fuck_ , Galen. Anyone who says otherwise is a lying liar who tells lies.”

 

“I see.”

 

But it was still another minute before they could let go of each other long enough to open Rogue’s back door and climb in: Bodhi first, with Galen quick on his heels, one large hand set possessively on Bodhi’s hip. He closed the door behind them, locking out the worst of the midday sunlight, and followed Bodhi to the back seat.

 

Once there, Bodhi had just sat and turned to face Galen, about to make a joke about the somewhat cramped confines they had to work with, when Galen all but pounced on him, pinning his body to the sun-heated fabric of the seat while he kissed the words off Bodhi’s already kiss-swollen lips and out of Bodhi’s dazed and happy brain. It was all Bodhi could do to free his pinned hands so he could wrap his arms around Galen’s neck. The other man settled between Bodhi’s legs, setting up a slow, lazy, but focused rhythm of grinding, thrusting, and good, ol’-fashioned humping, which Bodhi certainly didn’t mind, but—

 

“Wait, wait—” he gasped as Galen nibbled more hickeys into his throat. “What about—I was gonna—oh, _Galen, please_ —I was gonna suck you off then snowball you.”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“Don’t you still want—”

 

“More than words can convey.”

 

“But—if we keep this up, I’m gonna come in my pants and so’re _you_! Never mind in my _mouth_!”

 

Galen groaned and grumbled, but then sat up and began undoing Bodhi’s belt—this time it was a Bat-signal buckle—then his fly, yanking down the shorts and Bodhi’s blue _Superman_ boxers without preamble or pause. Then he was undoing his own fly, and pushing his jeans and grey jockeys down to his knees.

 

His cock was hard and red and already leaking steadily, poking out from the lower part of his button-down shirt. Bodhi licked his lips, ready for the challenge of his first-ever beej. He started to sit up so he could maneuver into a better position to take up the delightful gauntlet, but Galen placed a stilling hand on Bodhi’s sternum, shaking his head as he stared down at Bodhi’s cock.

 

Blushing, Bodhi shivered and bit his lip once more, unable to help the fact that he got even harder under Galen’s intent stare, or that precome ran out of him like a damned leaky faucet. Two involuntary acts that were not in the least slowed by Galen murmuring praise in Danish and running a slow, admiring finger up from the underside of Bodhi’s cock, near the base, then up to the tip, where he wetted his finger at the continuing trickle of moisture. He met Bodhi’s wide-eyed gaze as he brought his finger to his mouth, sucking on it much the way Bodhi had.

 

Bodhi had to close his eyes on that moan-worthy sight, or come right then and there. “Galen . . . Jesus- _fuck_. . . .” he breathed. The other man chuckled, shifting around a bit. Bodhi had just managed to get himself under something approximating control, and was about to open his eyes just to glare, when hot, wet warmth engulfed the top two inches of his cock . . . lightly at first, then with increasing, suctioning intensity. A talented and dedicated tongue swirled around the very tip and teased the slip till Bodhi was gasping and thrashing and begging. Whether to come or for Galen to stop before he did, even Bodhi couldn’t have said.

 

Then Galen was sliding further down on Bodhi’s cock, the suctioning easing up a bit as he did. They both made surprised sounds when Bodhi hit the back of Galen’s throat . . . then went down a bit, before Galen was smoothly pulling off, humming while he did.

 

“ _Oh_ . . . oh, _Galen_ ,” Bodhi practically sobbed, tears managing to leak out of tight-shut eyes. “Please, _don’t stop_. . . .”

 

“ _Aldrig, min skat_ ,” Galen murmured against the tip of Bodhi’s cock before taking him in again, this time, far enough that his face was pressed into Bodhi’s pubic hair by the time he stopped. And Bodhi . . . Bodhi was pretty sure he was at least halfway down Galen’s throat, the warm, wet, tight confines of it driving him mad with the need to come. And the need to _stave off_ coming so that he could enjoy this wondrous feeling for as long as possible. He also fought against the urge—the instinct—the _imperative_ to thrust and drive himself as hard and as far as he could down Galen’s esophagus. But it still wasn’t long before Galen was pinning his hips with casual, but iron strength, and taking in Bodhi’s cock at his own pace: slow, torturous, and exploring.

 

“Galen— _Galen_ , gonna—” Bodhi didn’t even get the word _come_ out, nor had he commenced doing so, when Galen was easing off him completely and clamping down on the base of his cock to prevent him from blowing his load like the amateur he was.

 

It was a few panting, swearing, _grateful_ minutes before Bodhi could open his teary eyes. Galen was leaning over him, _watching him_ with what looked like intense awe, but couldn’t _possibly_ be because he was just _Bodhi_ , right? _Just_ Bodhi Rook, not some incubus with the power to ensnare the smartest, hottest, most charming guy on the entire planet?

 

“You,” Galen began with a slow, tight stroke that made Bodhi whimper as he clenched his fists and fought off his orgasm. To Galen’s obvious approval. “You _are_ a _Huldre_ , lovely and sweet, innocent but seductive, come to enchant me and steal my very soul.”

 

“Maybe,” Bodhi breathed, releasing his right fist and reaching up to cup Galen’s face tenderly, brushing his thumb from cheek to jaw. Galen leaned into the touch with pleasure and relief, his eyes closing for a few moments. When they opened again, they locked on Bodhi’s and the latter smiled, trembling, but genuine. “Maybe I _am_ everything you said. But I’m _not_ gonna take your soul without leaving one in its place.”

 

Galen smiled and darted down quickly, kissing Bodhi hard and deep, with aggressive and forceful thrusts of his tongue, which contrasted with the languid ease of his stroking. He tasted like lemonade and Bodhi—a strange, but not unpleasant mix of sweet-bitter-salt.

 

It didn’t seem like long at all before Galen was settling on top of him again, the hand that’d been stroking Bodhi gripping his outer thigh, before sliding over to his _inner_ thigh and pushing his leg out. Then Galen was thrusting against Bodhi, alongside his cock: _frottage_ that felt like it should’ve been called _Heaven_.

 

Despite the precome easing the way, the friction was intense and almost unbearably good. Bodhi couldn’t stop crying out and clutching at Galen’s arms and shoulders. Galen was grunting and groaning, low and long, as he finally grasped Bodhi’s hips and hitched them up toward himself. Bodhi’s thighs slid up over Galen’s, and Galen’s cock slid back behind Bodhi’s balls on the next thrust, the tip prodding wetly at Bodhi’s perineum and between his cheeks. Galen’s hands moved back and down, until he was clutching at Bodhi’s ass and spreading it open wider. His cock pushed further up between the parted cheeks, then slid and juddered to a stop against Bodhi’s entrance . . . where it pushed in a little.

 

“Oh!” Bodhi exclaimed, loud and high, eyes flying open as the slippery head of Galen’s cock breached that first ring of semi-relaxed muscle then came to a stop just inside him, burning and solid and _thick_ . . . and so possessive and _claiming_ in a way Bodhi had never experienced, nor ever expected to feel, or enjoy quite so much. “Oh-oh-oh! _Galen!_ ”

 

Then Bodhi’s eyes were closing as he flung his head back—Galen was instantly leaving more biting kisses down to his collar bone, his cock sliding into Bodhi just a few centimeters deeper before Bodhi’s body clamped down _tight_ —and came harder than he’d ever done or felt anything in his entire life. Which seemed to be a theme when it came to him and Galen getting horizontal.

 

“ _Fuck_!” Galen gritted out, his body shuddering deeply before he, too, came . . . trapped part-way in Bodhi’s body, filling the tight, virgin space with his hot, seemingly endless release which, ironically, allowed him to slip deeper, closer to Bodhi’s core.

 

“ _Please-please-Galen-please . . . all the way in_. . . all the way,” Bodhi whisper-chanted, even as he felt like he’d burn up from the inside out. Like Galen’s cock was splitting him in two even as it shot molten lava into his body.

 

“Don’t . . . don’t want to hurt you, _min elskov, min_ _kære_ ,” Galen breathed, clearly fighting to not drive himself home with one apocalyptic thrust, which very likely _would have_ damaged Bodhi considerably. “Oh, but you _feel_. . . .”

 

“And _you_ feel . . . _unh-fuuuuuck_. . . .” then Bodhi’s cogence was washed away as his body reached its fever-pitched apogee. Galen _did_ thrust in a bit: shallowly, but enough that it drove a somewhat agonized, instinctual whimper from a Bodhi who was only hanging on to his _consciousness_ by his fingernails, never mind his _reason_. But the fast-approaching fade-to-black receded a bit, thanks to the sudden pain of unprepared—if partial—penetration, and the lingering ache that followed.

 

“ _Bodhi, min elskede, min søde og uskyldige dreng_ ,” Galen huffed out on the back of a pained moan of his own, his body collapsing on Bodhi’s, heavy and hot and anchoring. At the same time, Bodhi felt the intensification . . . then recession of that forceful, invasive agony as the first third of Galen’s thick cock slipped out of him, aided by what felt like a deluge of come.

 

The _last_ thing Bodhi knew was Galen’s trembling, tender, reverent kiss, pressed to his slack mouth, then his cheek, as he murmured urgent apologies in English and Danish.

 

And then there was nothing but floaty, sated, velvet darkness.

 

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally caught up on all the feedback and comments and . . . you guys . . . you guys <3
> 
> Keep letting me know that you like it. Or if I've put a foot wrong and you don't. Like Bodhi, I'm in love (with this fic and this 'verse) and flying by the seat of my pants.
> 
> Thank you. I'll try to keep up to standard for you, and make you not sorry you stuck with this piece. With _me_.
> 
> And feel free to stop by my [Tumblr](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com) :-)


	11. Flying . . . Shining . . . Riding . . . On Top of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. NC-17, like, WHOA for this chapter.

**“Flying, with your love, shining, with your love, riding, with your love.**  
I feel like I'm on top of the world with your love.”   
―  **Cher Lloyd**

                  

“You’re _really_ good at this, y’know?” Bodhi yawned upon returning to full consciousness.

 

A guiltily amused chuckle came from close by, though Bodhi couldn’t feel the warmth of another body over or next to him. He squinted his eyes open slowly, then a bit faster when he realized he was wearing his shades. He found himself staring up at the ceiling of Rogue One.

 

Galen must’ve retrieved the sunglasses from the dash while Bodhi was drifting in Afterglow-Land. And such a lovely, lazy land, it was. . . .

 

“So, you’re awake?”

 

“Hmm . . . nope. Still come-comatose.”

 

“A likely story.”

 

Snorting, Bodhi ran a lazy hand run down his torso, which told him he was neither sticky, nor half-undressed. His skin felt clean and dry, and his clothes were, if a bit askew, pulled mostly back into place and rezipped. Closing his eyes again, Bodhi smiled.

 

“And then,” he intoned gravely, but with a flamey, breathily saccharine lisp, “he even wiped the spooj off me when we were done, and dressed me up again like I was a life-sized doll. Oh, Diary . . . he’s just the _dreamiest!_ ”

 

A dry, gentle kiss was pressed to Bodhi’s cheek, followed by a miserable sigh. “Yes, right. I let myself lose control and damn-near forced my way into your very unprepared and virgin body. I _am_ the dreamiest.”

 

“Galen—” Bodhi began awkwardly as he, too, remembered that Galen had nearly fucked him without preparation or lube. But Galen was still talking, his voice low and shamed.

 

“I hurt you,” he was saying in a rush, “you trusted me not to be a complete cad, and I acted like your safety and comfort didn’t matter as much as my own pleasure. And for that . . . for that, I’m sorrier than I can ever say.”

 

Bodhi frowned, blinking and sighing, then turned his head to his left: the direction from which Galen’s voice had been coming. And sure enough, kneeling next to him in the tight space, was a sexily-rumpled, flushed, but devastated-looking Galen Erso. His eyes were bright, worried, and heart-broken. Bodhi felt Galen’s pain bloom in his own chest as if it’d originated there. He wanted nothing more than to take that pain away and absolve his lover of any guilt or shame.

 

“Yep. In my book, you’re an absolute dreamboat.” Bodhi smiled a little but closed his eyes for another few moments, to let them rest a bit more before he tackled what Galen had said and done, and the fact that he’d once again have to be the one to build a bridge between them. To be the determined and forgiving one. “And you’re resourceful, too. Somehow, you managed to clean all the come off us both. Bravo.”

 

“I, er, remembered we had the moist towelettes and napkins from the kebab stand. But only a few of each to work with. We, ah, made quite the mess,” Galen mumbled, still sounding horribly ashamed.

 

“Sexy, dreamy, and resourceful. You’re a triple-threat, then,” Bodhi said, in another attempt to lighten the atmosphere before he unpacked the baggage Galen seemed to be carrying. “Go, you!”

 

“I’m a threat, _full-stop_ , or so it seems,” Galen agreed grimly, and Bodhi . . . simply had _enough_.

 

“Listen, Professor.” Bodhi opened his eyes and glared up at Galen, but then reached up to cup that square, handsome, miserable face in his hand, brushing his thumb along Galen’s lower lip. “You’re a _good man_. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here with you like this. And _you_ wouldn’t feel so bad for making a _mistake_ —that _is_ what it was. A mistake. _That’s all_. You didn’t rape or coerce me. You got caught up— _we both got caught up—_ and _made_ _a mistake_. We did a stupid thing . . . one that could’ve ended badly, yeah, but it didn’t. Thank goodness. You’re okay and I’m okay. And I . . . I _forgive you_ , alright?” Bodhi searched Galen’s sorrowful eyes and smiled a little. “You’re a good man, but a _human_ one. And you made a mistake. One that you won’t make again, right?”

 

Galen looked down, his face a study in utter consternation. “You would be wise not to _give me_ the chance to make it again.”

 

“Well. No one’s ever accused me of being wise.” Off Galen’s stern glance, Bodhi shrugged, still smiling. “It’s true. I’m gonna go with my gut—which tells me you’re a stand-up guy—and chalk this up to . . . some over-exuberance, and the both of us being a little too hasty and horny. Consider this a second chance given and we’ll leave it at that. But whatever else happened, Galen, sweetheart,” Bodhi sighed, shaking his head as he tried to _will_ his lover into believing him. “I _wanted_ you inside me. Maybe not quite at that moment or with so little prep, but I wanted it. The moaning and coming and holding onto you like I couldn’t bear to ever let go? For future reference, from _me_ , that’s _consent_. If you _ever_ do something I’m not on-board with for real? You’ll hear the biggest, loudest _no_ there ever was. _And_ I’ll knee you in the balls for good measure if I think you’re not hearing me _fast enough_. Okay?”

 

 _Galen_ searched _Bodhi’s_ eyes, this time, and for quite some time before he nodded and heaved another sigh.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “ _So_ very sorry, my love. Never again.”

 

“Apology accepted.”

 

“But . . . why? Tell what have I ever done to deserve your forgiveness?” Galen blurted out suddenly, desperately. Bodhi smiled.

 

“Aside from one lapse in control and common sense, you’re, like, the triathlon of perfect guys. You bike, you swim, you . . . also do the third thing.”

 

Galen laughed a little and nibbled Bodhi’s thumb. “A sweeter compliment I’ve never received, even if it’s entirely undeserved,” he kissed into the tip of the digit before catching Bodhi’s hand with his own and kissing his fingers reverently, his expression turning serious. “But seriously, how are you feeling? Are you . . . do you . . .  _hurt_  anywhere?”

 

 _Have_ I _hurt you?_  Galen was asking and Bodhi rolled his eyes, repressing another grin. “Actually, I feel more right in my skin than I ever have, Galen. For-realsies.”

 

Galen’s smile was a bit chagrined. “You haven’t tried to sit up, yet. Sitting may tell a different tale.”

 

“Then help me up and we’ll see.” Bodhi allowed his grin to shine out and, with Galen’s help, pushed himself up to a sitting position on Rogue’s back seat. As he did, a few aches made themselves heard: the ache of his left leg, from where it’d hung off the seat at an awkward angle; the ache of his neck, from holding it in several unusual positions before, during, and after his climax; the ache of his head and back, which was mostly overflow from his neck; and last, but certainly not least, the dull twinge-burn-throb in his ass.

 

 _That_ was rather insistent and noticeable, since Bodhi had never in his life ached there before yesterday. And even then, not quite this intensely and insistently. And certainly not even after the few times he’d experimented with his own fingers.

 

A dull twinge-burn-throb wasn’t the best how-do _ever_ , but then, Bodhi knew that if it was a _sharp_ twinge-burn- _tear_ , that’d be a whole _different_ level of not-good.

 

“Ooh!” he said softly, still startled at the strangeness of this new ache and what it meant in the grander scheme of things. The smile he offered a worried-looking Galen was tremulous and uncertain. “I guess that means I’m, uh, not a virgin, anymore, huh?”

 

“I’d have to agree.” Galen’s brow furrowed and he winced guiltily, but held Bodhi’s gaze. “Did I . . . _tear_ you? Is the pain . . . bad?”

 

Bodhi leaned over to press a kiss to Galen’s lips. “Nah. Worse than a papercut but not as bad as six papercuts. I’ll be fine.”

 

“How can you be sure?” Galen whispered on Bodhi’s lips, his own as delicate as a caress. “Perhaps we should . . . go get you checked out. . . ?”

 

“ _NO_. Galen—” giggling a little, amused and embarrassed and _thrilled_ to have finally gotten rid of his V-card, Bodhi sat back—and it _did_ hurt markedly to do so, but it wasn’t _horrible_ —and looked Galen in the eyes. “Trust me, Professor. I may be a noob at this whole butt-sex thing, but I’m pretty sure that if there was tearing, I’d know and I’d be in a _lot_ more pain than I am, at this moment.”

 

“So, you _are_ in pain, right now?” Galen looked ready to flay himself, and Bodhi . . . just wasn’t having that.

 

“If you’re asking does us having _sorta-sex_ without lube or preparation, other than precome and good intentions, feel wonderful in the aftermath . . . I’m not gonna say an unqualified _yes_. You have a big, thick dick and I’m—I _was_ —a virgin. No lube and no prep should’ve equaled a bad time for all involved, but it _didn’t_. Somehow, even doing it all the wrong way, it was still the _best_ time of my life, Galen. It felt _so amazing_ to have you inside me even just a little, that I can’t _wait_ for the day you finally go in _all the way_.” Bodhi’s eyebrows shot up and Galen flushed, turning such an attractive shade of pink at the cheeks, ears, and tip of his nose, Bodhi had to steal a kiss. And another. “Am I in abject agony? No. Mild discomfort? Yes. Will it pass? Pretty sure it will. Was it totally worth it to get to feel you _inside me_? _That_ is most _definitely_ an unqualified _yes_.”

 

“Love shouldn’t be painful, _min skat_ ,” Galen mumbled, half to himself, still frowning. His eyes scanned and studied Bodhi’s face ceaselessly, as if searching for answers. “It shouldn’t _hurt_.”

 

“Maybe not but, in reality, Professor, _everything_ has a learning curve. You, of all people, should know that. And I’ll tell ya,” Bodhi added quietly, as if confiding a secret, leaning close again. “Maybe it’s weird and kinda kinky, but I’m _glad_ that I’m a bit sore. It’s like a souvenir of my first time: this deep, kinda burn-y, but kinda sweet ache that’s letting me know that it was really _real_. All of it. And the only thing that’s bothering me at this very excellent moment, is the feeling of emptiness that comes with that soreness.” Blushing, Bodhi looked down, eyes wide behind the safety of his shades as he tried to sort out what he wanted and needed to say. “Now that I know how it feels—how it _could_ feel—to have you inside me, I don’t really like the way it feels when you’re _not_ , anymore. It feels— _I feel_ empty and strange and . . . alone. Like there’s a part of me missing, which I never knew to look for until _this_. Until _you_.”

 

Bodhi risked a glance up again, to see Galen watching him with wide, wondering eyes.

 

“Truly?” he asked, as if afraid to believe that he might _not_ have totally ruined Bodhi’s first time, as well as having irrevocably stolen something precious and sacred and all that mumbo-jumbo. Bodhi grinned, rolling his eyes even though Galen couldn’t see it.

 

“ _Really_ and truly, Professor. That was everything I could’ve wanted from a first time and then some. It was _beyond_ _perfect_.”

 

Galen started to smile. Before the curving of his lips was complete, Bodhi had kissed him again, arms wrapping around Galen’s neck as he tried to pull the larger man back on top of him. Galen made a soft noise of protest, even as he shifted from his kneeling position on Rogue’s floor, to sitting on the back seat next to Bodhi’s legs, cupping the younger man’s face in large, gentle hands.

 

“Can we go back to your hotel room?” Bodhi breathed.

 

“What about your itinerary?”

 

“ _Fuck_ that. Wait, no.” Bodhi started to lay back down, trying to pull Galen down on top of him again. “Fuck _me_ , instead.”

 

Galen resisted Bodhi’s pulling, after leaning down over him enough to kiss the spot between his brows. “I don’t want to hurt you, Little Magpie.”

 

“Maybe I _like_ it when you hurt me.”

 

Galen blinked in surprise, but not before Bodhi saw something heated and very much interested flare in his lover’s hazel-grey eyes. Then Galen was blinking and looking down for a few moments. “Then, let me rephrase that: I don’t want to damage or otherwise harm you.”

 

Which was enough to give Bodhi pause, when coupled with that sincerely concerned tone.

 

“Then we won’t fuck in Rogue’s back seat again,” he finally decided, but pouting. Then the pout turned into a sultry smile. “Hey, do you have lube back at your suite?”

 

“Yes, actually.” Galen blushed and Bodhi smirked, wondering if the other man had ventured out on his own to get the lube or had sent down to the concierge. “I have lube at the suite, but . . . we were _supposed_ to be getting to know each other before we had sex again.”

 

“Speaking of barn doors that are open and horses that are running free,” Bodhi said wryly, snorting. Galen’s smile was crooked and a bit lame.

 

“Apparently, you and I need a chaperon if we’re going to be . . . getting to know each other.”

 

“I don’t think we need a chaperon at all,” Bodhi said cheerfully, renewing his tugging. Galen straddled his thighs and kissed his forehead again. “We just need some nice, uninterrupted pillow-talk. _After_ the cripplingly good sex, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Galen agreed with more than a little sardonicism. “Heaven forbid we should actually hold back a bit and _wait_ to ravish each other till we’ve had a full conversation.”

 

“I’ve been _waiting_ my _whole life_ for you, Galen,” Bodhi said plainly, after a moment of hesitation. “My whole life has been waiting to feel with someone even _one-tenth_ of what I feel when I’m with _you_. We can converse as much or as little as you like. But, in light of how _I_ feel—like we’ve known each other since before we were even put on this _Earth_ —there’s no _too fast_ or _not knowing each other enough_. I’ve _always_ known you, Galen. I was just waiting to _meet_ you.”

 

Gaping rather dazedly, Galen merely stared down at Bodhi until the latter grew nervous and bit his lip, trying to think of a smooth way to retract what he’d just said. Or at least turn it into inane blather or a joke so that when Galen laughed, it’d be _with_ him, and not _at_ him.

 

But the last thing Bodhi felt at this vulnerable, somehow _determinative_ moment, was _humorous_.

 

Inane blather, it was to be, then.

 

“I’m not . . . not saying this so you’ll say it _back_ , or just to get you in my pants. I mean, those things’d be _nice_ , and all, but they’re not _deal-breakers_ since we have, in fact, _just met._ I just feel like we’re genuinely _kindred_ spirits, is all. And I _really_ —I really _hope_ —”

 

“Bodhi,” Galen murmured, closing his mouth and shaking his head bemusedly. But his eyes were bright and almost glowing with happiness, even in the dim bus. “ _Min elskede Magpie_. . . .”

 

“Um . . . yeah?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Oh.” Bodhi huffed out as Galen leaned down to kiss him. And: “Well, okay.”

 

Not much else was said until the sun was distinctly on the wester.

 

#

 

Bodhi had barely closed the door to Galen’s suite behind them when the older man, who’d preceded him into the small foyer, turned and pinned him against the door, kissing him hard. Until Bodhi was breathless and moaning, and squirming between Galen’s solid body and the immutable surface at his back.

 

Despite having spent the prior three-and-a-half hours since coming the first time making out, and feeling each other up to the point of both coming a _second_ time, both Bodhi and Galen were nonetheless hard, once more. They had been the whole rush-hour drive back to the hotel. And now, Galen’s aggressive thrusts were both intent and determined, as he pushed a gasping and panting Bodhi into the door with groans and grunts of his own.

 

Galen suddenly clasped Bodhi’s wrists and brought them up to eye-level. Then he pinned them to either side of Bodhi’s head: one against the door, the other on the post right next to it. His hips were still moving to a driving and relentless rhythm that kept Bodhi breathless and trying to beg for more between kisses.

 

Finally, Galen leaned back to look at Bodhi, without breaking the relentless rhythm of his thrusts. His eyes were darker than an ocean at night, his for-once-messy hair framing his flushed face.

 

“ _Jeg vil have dig så meget. Jeg har brug for at være inde i dig—_ behov for at føle _dig alt omkring mig,l_ ” he said in terse, clipped Danish, then sighed, his eyes closing for a few moments. “ _Jeg ønsker at tabe mig i dig, lille Magpie. . . .”_

“Okay,” Bodhi said breathlessly. “ _Maybe_ Danish is a sexy language when _you’re_ speaking it. Maybe. Also: _yes_ , to whatever you just said.”

 

“But you don’t _know_ what I just said.”

 

“Actually, I kinda do.” Bodhi shrugged when Galen’s brow furrowed in consideration. “And my answer’s _yes_. It’ll _always_ be _yes_ , Galen.”

 

Galen searched Bodhi’s eyes again for a minute before smiling and leaning in for another kiss, this one sweet and tender. He tasted like lemon and whatever sweet and savory spices had been used to season the kebabs they’d devoured on the drive back to the hotel.

 

“Mmm . . . as much as I want you—and any way I can _have_ you—let’s _not_ go for a least-romantic-places-to-fuck world record,” Bodhi said, laughing a little before pecking Galen’s lips. “Getting done in the back of Rogue was enough for one day. Fancy suite like this’s gotta have a _bedroom_. With an actual _bed_.”

 

“It does,” Galen confirmed, smirking. “A very comfortable bed, too, and western exposure, so I can see your beautiful skin glow while I make love to you.”

 

Cue Bodhi’s heart beating faster, and not because of the slower, but still intense thrusting and grinding of Galen’s hips.

 

“ _Or_ ,” Galen continued slyly, his pupils as blown-wide as Bodhi was sure his own were. “Or I _could_ get the lube, bring it here, and treat you like the wanton little slut you’re turning into. Fuck you right here, against the door, like you seem to want so desperately.”

 

Bodhi groaned, his head thunking back against the door hard, his eyes fluttering shut and squinching tight. “ _Galen_. . . .” he whispered, fully hard and in _dire_ need of friction _and_ filling. Hopefully at the same time.

 

“I could turn you to face the door, then pull down your shorts and boxers. Get my fingers nice and slick and open you up—find your spot again and work it till you come all over my door. Then when you’re relaxed and ready for me, I’d get my cock nice and slippery, and slowly—oh, so slowly—push my way into that tight, hot body of yours. Keep pushing and thrusting in and in, until I’m sheathed in you and shaking for the perfect, intense _heat_ of you.” Galen drew a breath that shuddered, cool and swift on Bodhi’s cheek, and was followed by soft, warm lips that continued whispering affectionate filth that apparently turned Bodhi’s crank at light-speed. Spun it like a pinwheel caught in stiff breeze. “I’d take you nice, and slow and deep, until you were hard once more, and begging me to make you come again. Then I’d _fuck_ you fast and hard, pinning and pressing your body to the door, smearing your come all over the door and your stomach . . . not letting you touch that pretty cock of yours even _once_. You’d have to come from _my_ cock in you, or not at all—and you _would_ come, Bodhi. Because I’m _telling_ you to. Come for me. Right now, Bodhi Rook. Come _now_.”

 

With a drawn-out moan and an all-over shudder, Bodhi was coming in his boxers, his body pressed still and flush against the door by Galen’s heavier one. The other man had stopped thrusting and was simply leaning his weight into Bodhi’s, whose hips were trying to buck up and find even greater friction than the pressure of Galen’s weight and the hot-wet cling of his own drenched boxers.

 

“Galen— _p-please_ —” Bodhi gasped out and Galen let go of his right hand. A moment later, the prescription sunglasses were removed from their perch on top of Bodhi’s head. Then Galen’s fingers were back and brushing Bodhi’s cheek, then his lips. Still moaning and shuddering and _coming_ , Bodhi wrapped his freed arm around Galen’s neck and managed to get his left leg wrapped around Galen’s right, trying to tug the other man even _closer_ , though if he were _any_ closer, he’d be in the hallway.

 

Galen’s weight suddenly eased off a bit just as Bodhi sagged, the steady spurts turning into sporadic spatters and dribbles. If not for the lion’s share Galen’s weight, Bodhi would have surely collapsed to the floor in a wrecked heap of engineering-student. Or perhaps floated away. . . .

 

“My Little Magpie . . . so responsive and lovely,” Galen murmured, letting go of Bodhi’s other wrist, too, and the arm it was attached to flopped down to Bodhi’s side. Then the hand caressing his face left, only to join its brother in gripping Bodhi’s ass and pulling him away from the door as well as attempting to hoist him up.

 

Bodhi didn’t need to be hinted at twice. He wrapped both arms and legs around Galen, and let the other man carry his limp, shivering body deeper into the suite.

 

Toward the bedroom.

 

Bodhi barely noticed the décor or dimensions of said bedroom, only that the bed was, indeed, very nice and firm—freshly made and bearing the scent of clean linen, which surrounded him when Galen carefully laid him down, then knelt between his instantly spread legs.

 

“You didn’t come,” Bodhi noted, staring at the formidable tenting of Galen’s dark jeans, on which he could just make out a wet-spot. “Why’d you make _me_ come, but not come _with_ me? Or after me? Or even _before_ me?”

 

Galen smiled a little as he unzipped his fly and pushed down his jeans and jockeys for the second time that afternoon. And just like last time, Bodhi was mesmerized by the sight of his lover’s thick, ruddy cock standing at attention. “Because orgasms have this wonderful way of relaxing the muscles of the human body. And I want _your_ gorgeous body as relaxed as possible when I penetrate you.”

 

Bodhi shuddered again. “How is it that you can make even _clinical_ terms sound sexy _as fuck_?”

 

Galen shrugged dismissively. “Must be the accent.”

 

“Must be.” Bodhi laughed, then blinked up at Galen in appreciation and anticipation as the man quickly shucked his vest and shirt, revealing a broad, barrel of a chest, covered in medium-brown and grey hair which narrowed to an irresistible trail of Heaven as it arrowed past his taut, gently-defined abdomen, to his similarly-furred groin.

 

His shoulders were just as broad and strong-looking as his torso, the corded muscle of his arms visible even at rest. Before he could clear it with his brain, Bodhi was sitting up to place his hands on those shoulders, running them down then up those hard arms, then over to Galen’s chest and down through the soft hair that covered it. Bodhi’s eyes followed whither his hands went, cataloguing his lover’s body with admiration and awe. He could feel Galen’s eyes on him, also cataloguing, and missing nothing.

 

“Bodhi,” he breathed and, flushing, Bodhi swallowed and looked up, wide-eyed and suddenly shy. Galen’s smile was patient and full of affection. “ _Lay down_ , Little Magpie.”

 

Nodding once, Bodhi did as he was told, pulling off his _Thundercats_ t-shirt as he did so and tossing it over the side of the bed. Galen’s smile widened as Bodhi, now prone, went to work on his belt and fly with shaking hands. Then Galen was brushing those hands away and undoing them, himself.

 

He then stood up and kicked off his jeans and jockeys, before pulling Bodhi’s shorts and sodden boxers down. They got dropped at the foot of the bed, and forgotten as Galen crawled up the mattress once more, until he was face to face with Bodhi and staring into his eyes.

 

Bodhi smiled hopefully, nervously, as he placed his hands on Galen’s biceps—the other man was levering his upper body over Bodhi’s, and kneeling between Bodhi’s thighs—rubbing them soothingly, as if Galen was the one who was anxious. His hands traveled up to those wide, hard shoulders, then up further, until he was cupping Galen’s jaw in his hands.

 

“My lovely little bird,” Galen murmured, leaning down to kiss Bodhi’s forehead, then the bridge of his nose, then his lips, where he lingered and teased and nipped, until Bodhi’s arms had wound around his neck and were pulling him downward.

 

Galen carefully settled his body on top of Bodhi’s, hissing as his rigid, surely sensitive cock touched Bodhi’s still mostly-flaccid one. Blushing even deeper, now, Bodhi cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’ll, uh . . . probably be hard again in a few minutes. Probably.”

 

“Even if you’re not, three times in one afternoon is nothing to turn one’s nose up at,” Galen said, nuzzling Bodhi’s cheek. “There’s nothing to explain or apologize for.”

 

Snorting, Bodhi hugged Galen tighter, closer, closing his eyes as the other man nibbled his way down Bodhi’s throat. “Maybe. But I’m—or I _was_ a sexually-frustrated, twenty-two years old virgin, who probably should’ve been in the Guinness World Records every year since puberty hit, for most times masturbating before breakfast. I literally come and then, if I want to, I can get hard again in, like, three minutes. Though, admittedly,” he mused, gasping and opening his eyes wide as Galen’s lips brushed his nipple, followed by the sharp nip and graze of his teeth. “I—I’ve n-never come so hard or so intense as when I c-come with _y-you_ , Galen.”

 

“Is that so?” Galen mumbled, tugging on Bodhi’s nipple with his teeth while teasing the sensitive flesh with his tongue. Bodhi hissed and leaned into the contact—leaned into the telltale tingle in his balls and at the base of his spine that meant he would— _very soon_ —be getting hard again.

 

“It is,” he replied in a high, whistling voice as Galen applied teeth, lips, and tongue to his other nipple with equal gusto. “It _so_ is. And I think the reason it’s taking me longer to get hard again is because . . . when I come with _you_ , it’s actually satisfying. I mean, I’m not, like, _so satisfied_ I don’t want _more_. But I’m satisfied enough that my body needs to take time to savor how good it feels. How at peace and wrung out and just . . . giddy-drunk on endorphins and happiness it is. _I am_.”

 

Galen’s chuckle felt incredibly good, the vibrations working their way from Galen’s mouth and teeth, to Bodhi’s already peaked flesh.

 

“ _Giddy-drunk on endorphins and happiness_ . . . _is_ that how I make you feel, pretty bird?” With one final tug-lick, Galen was once more hovering over Bodhi, face to face, his eyes seeming to glow in the late afternoon sunshine, which the tall bedroom windows let in and the transparent-white the curtains filtered.

 

Bodhi stared into Galen’s eyes, brushing messy fringe back from his forehead, only for it to flop right back. Smiling, Bodhi nodded. “Yes, Galen. That’s _exactly_ how you make me feel. All the time. All the time.”

 

Galen’s hot, hungry eyes flickered and he closed them for nearly a minute before speaking.

 

“Bodhi . . . when you say things like that . . . it’s an arrow directly to my heart. I have no armor when I’m with you. I’m defenseless. Vulnerable.”

 

Flinching, Bodhi, looked away . . . toward the wall _opposite_ the window, because he felt bad, but he wasn’t quite _that much_ of a masochist. There’d be no staring into the sun, sans shades, _today_. “I . . . sorry?”

 

“Don’t be, _min elskov_. Don’t be,” Galen said heavily. Then, a tense minute later: “Look at me.”

 

Bodhi obeyed slowly, hesitating and afraid of what he might see on Galen’s face and in his eyes. What he found was the very defenselessness and vulnerability that Galen had just spoken of, stamped on the man’s face and shining from his wet, solemn eyes.

 

 _Wait—_ wet _eyes?_

 

“Galen? Baby, what—” Bodhi began quietly, and the older man smiled a little, shaking his head as he sighed once more, suddenly laying down next to Bodhi in the queen-sized bed. Then, while Bodhi was still registering the cessation of sexy-times, Galen wrapped his arms around Bodhi and easily rolled them into a spooning position, his body warm, solid, and protective as it curled possessively around Bodhi’s.

 

Galen huffed rather contentedly on Bodhi’s nape, nuzzling and kissing Bodhi’s damp hairline. They automatically shifted about and tangled their legs together, until they found a way of lying with each other that was both comfortable and subtly thrilling. Made more so by the fact that Galen was still hard and nestled against Bodhi’s ass.

 

“You make me feel things I thought I’d never feel again,” Galen whispered when they’d been snuggling quietly for the better part of ten minutes. Bodhi, still somewhat turned on and half-hard because of it, had been nonetheless starting to drowse. “You’ve awakened parts of me I’d thought were dead and frozen solid . . . but that were just hibernating, waiting for the thawing touch of spring. Waiting for _you_.”

 

And with that, Galen repeatedly kissed the super-ticklish spot behind Bodhi’s ear, chuckling when Bodhi giggled and shook, and flapped his hand back at Galen’s thigh, murmuring: “ _Stop_ . . . jerk-butt.”

 

Galen, with a last few nuzzles, trailed more biting kisses down the sensitive column of Bodhi’s neck, until Bodhi was moaning and grinding back against Galen. And Galen started grinding forward in return, wrapping his left arm around Bodhi’s left shoulder and collar, until his hand could rest lightly on Bodhi’s right shoulder.

 

“I want you just like this,” he murmured on Bodhi’s skin, his lips not far from the spot his hand rested and his fingers caressed. He pushed his hips forward meaningfully, in case Bodhi was uncertain what he meant, his cock sliding damply between Bodhi’s cheeks, just enough that they _both_ moaned. “Just like this. I want to be as close to you as possible and hold you in my arms while orgasm unmakes you.”

 

Shuddering hard, Bodhi nodded. “ _Yes_ . . . yeah, I want that, too.”

 

Galen kissed his shoulder blade. “There’s lube in the night table near you.”

 

Bodhi leaned up on his elbow and reached out with his other arm, quickly opening the little drawer. Ironically, the lube was next to a new-looking Gideon bible and a bottle of prescription antacids Bodhi only recognized the name of because they were the same kind Miranda had taken when he was still small.

 

 _Maybe it’s an engineer-thing_ , Bodhi thought, wondering absently if he had acid reflux and an ulcer to look forward to as he got older.

 

(Though he doubted an asshole like _Professor_ _Krennic_ had any worries on that score. The man seemed fantastically unconcerned and unstressed about _anything_ that didn’t affect him directly, or his precious career.)

 

Retrieving the lube and closing the drawer, Bodhi snuggled back against Galen and passed the tube to him. “Tell me what to do,” he said huskily, eagerly. Galen kissed the back of his head, right on the man-bun.

 

“Relax.” There was a small _flick!_ as Galen opened the lube, and a strangely loud and therefore _hilarious_ squirting-farting sound that made it necessary for Bodhi to bite back a hysterical giggle. “Only relax, and let me do _all_ the work.”

 

“I think that can be arranged,” Bodhi managed to say dryly, as if getting _all-the-way_ fucked was something he was used to and blasé about.

 

Galen shifted his hips away from Bodhi’s a bit, murmuring: “Lift your leg and put it back on mine, sweetheart,” and, after Bodhi had, Galen’s wet, cool fingers pushed between his cheeks, feeling for and unerringly finding Bodhi’s entrance. He circled and brushed against it, teasing and feinting until Bodhi was whimpering and moaning for more.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

And as Galen pressed his index finger against Bodhi, then pushed _in_ , he bit down on Bodhi’s earlobe hard. Bodhi yelped and barely noticed Galen’s finger driving steadily into him with one quick, burning thrust. But Bodhi’s _body_ noticed, clamping down on the intruding digit tight, torn between keeping it and rejecting it. Not that Galen was giving Bodhi’s body much choice.

 

“Relax, Little Magpie . . . let me in,” Galen whispered, and Bodhi shivered, nodding, his eyes squinched shut once more. “You’re so hot and tight and lovely . . . _let me in_. . . .”

 

When Galen’s index finger had gone as deep as it could, he proceeded to slowly and gently fuck Bodhi with that finger, twisting it and occasionally crooking it. After a few minutes, Bodhi stiffened in Galen’s arms, his whimper turning into a wavering moan of pleasure. Galen smiled on Bodhi’s shoulder, and repeatedly brushed and pressed that spot until Bodhi was grunting out: “ _More_ , Galen. I’m _ready_.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“ _Please_. . . .”

 

Bodhi’s body balked at the addition of a second finger, at the deeper penetration, the wider stretch, the slightly altered angle of entry. But Galen worked carefully, patiently, and whispered words of praise and desire that went a long way to helping Bodhi relax . . . helping his arousal eclipse his fear and nerves.

 

So, by the time Galen was easing his scissoring fingers out of Bodhi after stretching him this way for long minutes, Bodhi was used to the stretch and burn, and actually starting to _like_ it. His formerly wilting erection was perking up again.

 

The loud, silly squirting filled the room for a moment, louder even, than their accelerated breathing, and Bodhi chuckled breathlessly, unable to stop himself this time. Galen bit his shoulder playfully.

 

“Hush, or you’ll give me a complex, giggling like that,” he muttered almost poutily. Then three thick, cool fingers—bunched together—were pressing into Bodhi s l o w l y and very carefully. Galen’s soft breath, heretofore even and steady on Bodhi’s shoulder, was suddenly absent: the other man was holding his breath.

 

“ _Unh_ ,” Bodhi grunted in discomfort as the slippery fingers breached his body and paused, letting him get used to the sensation before resuming their inward progress.

 

“You’re doing so well, my love . . . so well for me,” Galen kept praising between lingering kisses all over Bodhi’s shoulder, neck, and collar. And by the time he was fully seated in Bodhi’s trembling body, the only thing louder than _his_ panting was Bodhi’s loud, light-fast gasping. “Relax, dear one. I won’t hurt you. I’ll take _such_ good care of you, just . . . please, _trust me_.”

 

“I trust you, Galen. All the way.” And, so saying, Bodhi took a deep, controlled breath and let it out—and with it, released most of the tension and stress in his body in one fell swoop. Galen went a little deeper, his fingers brushing Bodhi’s prostate fleetingly, before applying increasing pressure to it.

 

Wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over Bodhi, until he was practically sobbing from the need to stop and the equally urgent need to _never_ stop. From the desire to come and the desire to _never_ come, remaining in this euphoric stasis forever. . . .

 

When Galen eased his fingers free for the final time, Bodhi was too inundated with pleasure and desire to even note the stupid, farting sound of the tube of lube. Or the slick _whist-whist_ ing of Galen coating his cock liberally in the cool slick.

 

But he did notice and tense up just a bit as Galen’s arm unwounded from around his shoulders and his own body was pressed forward and down into the mattresses—practically onto his stomach—even as his leg was pulled back and up a bit more. Then a bit more.

 

Then Galen was shifting and lining himself up: something that felt rather thicker and harder than Galen’s three bunched fingers, pressed against Bodhi’s hole, without quite breaching it.

 

“Deep breath in, my pretty bird,” Galen rumbled in a tight, tense voice that Bodhi nonetheless obeyed. Then Galen kissed his nape again. “Now, slowly let it out.”

 

Bodhi did. And as he did, Galen drove himself into Bodhi’s body just past that first ring of muscle. It . . . didn’t exactly hurt, but Bodhi gasped, anyway, and Galen stilled within him.

 

“Are you . . . am I hurting you, Bodhi? Do you need me to stop?”

 

“No, not at all, it just . . . it feels weird, is all.” Bodhi took another breath and a moment to acknowledge to himself that this was entirely true. “Please, don’t stop _now_.”

 

Galen rested his damp face on Bodhi’s shoulder for a minute before nodding. “Alright. I—alright.”

 

And the slow thrust in commenced.

 

And Bodhi’s body, with the aid of many deep inhales and exhales, and compliments and pleas to _relax_ and _let me in_ , began to do just that.

 

It wasn’t long before Galen was in, as deep as he could go, his front flush against Bodhi’s back. One arm held Bodhi’s extended leg up and out. The other wedged under Bodhi’s torso, his hand brushing absently at Bodhi’s abdomen before moving lower to take his once-more flagging cock in a loose, but still possessive grasp.

 

Soon, between the sweet ache of Galen inside him and the tight, intent hand on his cock, Bodhi wasn’t flagging for much longer. He didn’t even realize he was hitching and on his way to sobbing from the unparalleled pleasure of being filled and the relentless friction, until Galen whispered. “Are you okay? Is this . . . am _I_. . . ?”

 

“You’re _perfect_ , Galen,” Bodhi reassured his lover, sniffling as he was almost totally overcome by a feeling too big to keep inside, anymore. A feeling that was rivaled only by his need and _desire_ for the man currently filling him up so good—almost to bursting. “You’re _everything,_ and . . . I’m pretty sure that I love you.” He heard Galen’s breath catch and giggled a bit through his sobs. “That being said, if you don’t start _moving_ and turn my near-virgin ass out _ten minutes ago_ —if you don’t make me come _real_ soon—I’m gonna finish _myself_ _off_ and go to _sleep_.”

 

Bodhi could almost hear the blink. Then Galen was laughing and hugging him close. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he rumbled on Bodhi’s lips when the younger man turned his head back at an awkward, but necessary angle to be kissed.

 

While they kissed and clinched, Galen pulled out just a little, before surging forward again. Bodhi gasped, high and startled, into their kiss, and moaned as Galen’s tongue copied the slow, shallow thrusts of his cock.

 

Shortly thereafter, Bodhi was giving as good as he got, moving and grinding, clenching and releasing around Galen, until the older man was groaning and thrusting with less care and more abandon. Less tenderness, but more power. His hips were tireless pistons.

 

And Bodhi’s body, somehow, knew exactly how to move—as if it’d done this before, and with _Galen_ as his partner—to maximize its pleasure and Galen’s, too. It met each thrust and followed every withdrawal as if it was a compass, and Galen’s body was magnetic north.

 

“So _perfect_ . . . _so_ perfect,” Galen kept panting into their increasingly less coordinated kiss. His hand on Bodhi’s painfully-hard cock stuttered and lost rhythm, though not enthusiasm. The same could be said for Galen’s thrusts. Though not lacking in technique and power, rhythm and steadiness were a thing of the past as Bodhi’s body began to convulse around him, in preparation to come.

 

“Galen—Galen—” he gasped out, eyes shut tight as tears still managed to leak out, his skin covered in goosebumps and every hair standing on end for the second time that day.

 

“I know, my love, I know . . . _come for me_. . . .” Galen commanded hoarsely on Bodhi’s shoulder and, given the permission it craved, Bodhi’s body tensed to the point that Galen cried out in exquisite anguish and divine despair. His own body stilled in around and in Bodhi’s . . . then Bodhi let go in an explosion of white-out ecstasy that saw him crying out, too, and all but fainting in Galen’s arms as his body went limp. He came in a few long, burning pulses, and several shorter ones, before he was coming dry, and in ecstatic agony because of it.

 

Behind him, _in him_ , Galen was experiencing his own explosion, moaning _Lort!_ and _fuck!_ And _Bodhi_ , more than the other two words combined; he flooded his lover’s limp, shaking body with his own hot, pleasure-and-pain release until he, too, went limp.

 

And there they lay in the light of the spectacular orange sunset, which painted their sweating, flushed skins fiery colors and set the room itself ablaze.

 

Barely conscious, Bodhi turned his head into his pillow and flopped a hand up to cover his tightly closed eyes, whining a little. Galen shifted automatically, doing his best to shield Bodhi from the violent light with his body and, also, attempting to stay inside Bodhi, and connected to him for as long as possible.

 

Bodhi snuggled back against Galen, even though that pushed Galen—who was still half-hard, deeper into his over-sensitized body again, which was worth a small, discomfited moan.

 

“Sorry, _mit eget hjerte_ ,” Galen apologized, yawning, then squeezed Bodhi tight for a few moments, obviously hovering at the edges of wakefulness, himself. “I love you.”

 

Bodhi sighed contentedly, the very last little bit of tension leaving him—along with the very last little bit of consciousness—as Galen nuzzled his hair and whispered his love again, on the back of another sated yawn.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'm I doing? Seriously?
> 
> I'm also on Tumblr :-)


	12. Like Love and Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. NC-17, very light D/s and S&M.

**“I love to fly and I'm able to,** ****  
Fly when I'm in love with you.”  
―  **Manmeet Singh Narang**

 

Bodhi awoke laying on his right side, instead of his left or his stomach, as was usual. He opened his eyes to near-total darkness that was only dimly broken by the reflected flicker of street-light on the wall he laid facing.

 

He made a small humming sound as he stretched and yawned, and the arms around him, strong and safe and warm, tightened. His right ear was nuzzled and nibbled, and he chuckled rustily, leaning into the touches and kisses with a happy sigh. Galen’s affection and caring, electric touch and musky-astringent scent ensnared his senses as he settled in the other man’s encircling arms.

 

“Good evening,” Galen murmured, huffing a contented sigh of his own, his warm breath gusting in Bodhi’s ear. Smiling, Bodhi shifted just enough to feel the lingering ache and fatigue in his thighs and the dull throb in his ass.

 

He felt quite well-fucked . . . and a little sticky and gross.

 

He felt _perfect_.

 

“Hmm, and a _very_ _good_ evening, at that, sir,” he replied, lifting his tired arm to bring his hand to up to Galen’s face, brushing his fingers feather-light over the other man’s strong features, lingering at his cheek and lips. “Are you always this too-cool-for-school after you violate the Hell out of an innocent engineering-geek?”

 

“Only when that innocent engineering-geek is _you_.” Galen nibbled Bodhi’s auricle with careful teeth, until Bodhi was making breathy, interested noises. He gasped and moaned when Galen’s hands shifted: the one wedged under Bodhi’s torso teasing up his chest to tweak his left nipple sharply, the other sliding over Bodhi’s hip to grasp his stirring cock in a grip that would have been casual and merely friendly, had it not been of the appendage in question. “I’ve never felt as . . . _sure_ of anyone, or as fast, as I find myself feeling of you. Never felt this excited and yet at ease with anyone, as if we’ve simultaneously been lovers for a thousand years, as well as having never even touched each other until yesterday.”

 

Bodhi hummed again, this time thoughtfully. “I know what you mean, Jelly-Bean. It feels familiar and comfortable . . . being with you like this . . . even though it feels new and exciting, too. As if it was something destined to happen, only because it already _had_. Maybe in another life,” he mused as Galen’s callused fingertips twisted his nipple slowly, but somewhat more than playfully, eliciting a yearning, wanton moan. Bodhi’s interested cock got a little harder as he squirmed back against Galen, who was also getting harder against Bodhi’s ass, doing some shifting and squirming of his own.

 

“I don’t normally give credence to such ideas, but in this case . . . I find myself less than quick to shoot the idea down.” Galen let go of Bodhi’s cock to place a gentle hand on his abdomen and his voice was a low murmur in Bodhi’s ear. “I like the idea that we might’ve been together, like this, a long time ago, maybe in a galaxy far, _far_ away. I _like_ the idea of you and I being fated. And I find that when it comes to you . . . when it comes to _you_ , I believe that _anything_ is possible. Even the very improbable.”

 

Bodhi’s heart trip-hammered pleasantly. “If you’re not careful, you’ll turn my head completely with all this high-toned flattery and copious praise,” he warned, breathless and sighing.

 

“Well, that’s the plan, of course.” Galen’s hand slid back down to Bodhi’s cock and he laid a path of sharp love-bites all over every inch of Bodhi’s neck and shoulder he could reach. “First the flattery—high-toned and otherwise—then the copious praise. And then. . . .”

 

Bodhi groaned, long and needy, as Galen ground against him. “And th-then?”

 

“Well, perhaps _that_ part is best shown and experienced, rather than told.” Galen said, sitting up a little in the darkness and rolling Bodhi onto his back. He knelt between the younger man’s thighs and, one _click!_ later, mellow, yellow lamplight glowed throughout the room, gentle enough to spare even Bodhi’s sensitive eyes.

 

Galen was burnished golden in the light, his straight brown-and-grey hair turned bronzy-with-gold-highlights. His eyes seemed to be the color of warm honey, and his big, goofy grin was fond, sexy, and ravenous as he stared down at Bodhi. He was hard and at least three-quarters of the way to being fully erect, pointing proudly at Bodhi, like the world’s most fun squirt-gun.

 

Noting the big, dorky grin on his _own_ face, Bodhi wondered if, aside from a hot mess, he looked to Galen, the way Galen looked to him: fond, sexy, and ravenous.

 

Bodhi didn’t even realize he’d reached down and started stroking himself until he followed Galen’s tracking gaze. Then Bodhi blushed and started to take his hand away.

 

“Don’t stop,” Galen said, his voice rough and hungry, his eyes lingering on Bodhi’s cock so intently, the younger man smirked a little and resumed stroking.

 

“Jeez, Professor, I didn’t realize I had that much cock to look at.”

 

“You’re beautiful. Perfect in part and in whole.” Galen’s grin turned into a somewhat smitten smile as he met Bodhi’s eyes. “And you have just the right amount of cock, gorgeous and well-formed.”

 

Blushing even deeper, Bodhi licked his lips. “Maybe. But I could always do with another eight inches or so.” His eyebrows quirked meaningfully and he spread his legs wider—his thigh muscles ached and complained, but Bodhi couldn’t have cared less—as his gaze dropped to Galen’s cock.

 

That dangerous, possessive flicker lit Galen’s eyes momentarily, as he began stripping his own cock with tight, harsh, efficient strokes. “Surely you must be sore, Little Magpie . . . there’re other things we can do that don’t involve penetration. I don’t wish to harm you.”

 

“ _I_ don’t want you to harm me, either, Galen,” Bodhi agreed, arching up into his own touch as he slid his fingers teasingly down past his balls to rub at his slick, damp perineum . . . before pushing his fingers further back. They slipped along easily in the somewhat tacky mixture of come and lube still in Bodhi’s body. “But remember what I said about liking it if you hurt me a little?”

 

Galen nodded, his eyes glued to Bodhi’s fingers as he lifted his pelvis slightly and pushed his first two fingers against his puffy, throbbing entrance . . . then _in_ with a slightly muffled whimper, his eyes fluttering shut as his sore, twinging muscles began to rally, instinctively clenching around his fingers.

 

It felt _good_. And in a way it never had before, for all Bodhi’s experimentation since he was fourteen . . . when he’d first realized that he might like to be on the receiving end of a sexual encounter with another man. Back then, he’d never, for one thing, managed to reach or stimulate his prostate on his own—and still didn’t, at present—nor had his fingers seemed the right width or length to even get him harder than he would’ve otherwise gotten just stroking himself off.

 

He’d never ached so hungrily, so yearningly for more of the _cause_ of an ache. And his fingers, though they felt good—felt like a step in the right direction—were _not_ enough. _Galen’s_ fingers would feel even better.

 

And Galen’s _cock_ even better than _that_.

 

Biting his lip, Bodhi opened his eyes slowly, to see Galen frozen, eyes wide, staring at Bodhi’s fingers where they scissored and thrust into his own body with tiny, deliciously obscene squelching noises.

 

“ _Bodhi_ ,” Galen exhaled, half-demand, half-plea. Bodhi smiled, withdrawing his fingers most of the way, only to shove them in harder . . . hard enough to make himself whimper again, all greed and need and desperation.

 

It was becoming difficult to think, let alone speak. But he managed, legs spread and heels in the air. Galen’s eyes ticked to his for a moment, then again, locking their gazes.

 

“I _said_ I’d like being hurt a little if _you_ were the one to do the hurting, and I _meant_ it Galen. If we’re gonna make this work, you _have_ to trust me when I say I know what I want to try, and I know what I want you to do with me. And _to_ me.” Bodhi smiled hopefully. “ _Do_ you trust me, Professor.”

 

“To the end of the world and beyond,” Galen said without hesitation, looking utterly sincere and quite solemn. Or as solemn as a man could look, holding his rock-hard cock in his hand as if to keep from losing it. Bodhi’s smile turned into a big grin again.

 

“Good. Then maybe,” he said, crooking the index finger of his free hand in a come-hither gesture, “maybe you should come over here and _hurt me a little_.”

 

Galen groaned softly, stroking himself again, fast and absent, then he let go of his cock. It immediately thwapped against his pelvis.

 

Bodhi was both eager and flattered.

 

Then he was biting his lip on a coy, playful giggle as Galen crawled up the bed, until he was looming rather intimidatingly over Bodhi.

 

“Does it feel good?” he asked, low and quiet. Bodhi didn’t have to ask what he meant.

 

“Not as good as it would if it was _you_ in me.”

 

Galen smirked, all dangerous promise and particular determination. He kept his body levered up on one arm as he felt around under his pillow for a few seconds. He came up with the tube of lube and flicked the cap open singlehandedly, like a man cocking a pistol’s trigger.

 

Bodhi moaned, soft and helpless, as Galen held his gaze while lubing up his cock. Even seeing such a delightful show out of the corner of his eyes was enough to nearly unmake Bodhi. He wanted to close his eyes— _needed_ to—but couldn’t look away from Galen’s gaze. His fingers worked in his body automatically, instinctively stretching and preparing for the impending invasion.

 

(And damned if the lingering soreness and ache didn’t _add_ to the pleasure of stretching and preparing himself.)

 

“Does it hurt?” Galen asked when Bodhi winced a little. His fingers had slipped a bit deeper and scissored a bit wider than he’d been ready for, just yet, but that, too, felt . . . _incredible_.

 

“A little. Yes.”

 

“And do you _like_ that it hurts, _min engel_?”

 

Swallowing, his eyes wide and still held by Galen’s, Bodhi nodded once. “Yes. I do.”

 

Galen’s further arousal was obvious, his approval both sharp and startling. “And . . . would you _truly_ like it better if _I_ was the one making you hurt?”

 

“ _God, yes_ , Galen . . . _fuck_. . . .” Bodhi pushed his head deeper into the pillow, his brow furrowed and pleading. “Take me, hurt me, _own_ me, just . . . never let me g—mmph!”

 

By the time Galen let Bodhi surface from the kiss, they were both gasping and panting, foreheads leaned together, and Galen’s fingers—three of them—were beginning the steady, relentless push into Bodhi’s quivering, spasming body.

 

Galen’s fingers were not only thicker, but with three of them, the stretch and burn was markedly more pronounced than when it’d been Bodhi’s slender fingers. And as his body tried to relax and accommodate Galen’s questing, _ruthless_ fingers, Bodhi swallowed and swallowed, his breath catching, and stuttering in and out.

 

With a shaking hand—the same one that’d so recently been employed in preparing himself—he felt between their bodies for Galen’s cock and took it in hand, stroking the _painfully hard_ hard-on slow and light, until Galen hissed and swore into another kiss, deep and sloppy and perfect.

 

A minute later, Bodhi was crying out, tears in his eyes as his muscles clamped down on Galen’s fingers—the tips of which had merely brushed Bodhi’s prostate—of their own volition. He threw his head back into the pillow, once more, and Galen continued to kiss him: chin, throat, collar bone, back up to Bodhi’s throat, teasing the delicate skin with mercenary teeth, leaving marks and welts, hickeys and abrasions in their wake.

 

For eons, it seemed, all Bodhi felt was the pleasure and pain of Galen finger-fucking him slow and hard. He was so lost in it, there was no noticing anything _else_. He came once, sudden and burning, babbling and shouting Galen’s name . . . calling on a god he rarely believed in, anymore. Then, still hard, he was cycling down from his orgasm, panting and whimpering. But, instead of drifting gently into afterglow and sleep, he was immediately ramping up to another orgasm that felt like a tsunami, where the last had been a mere tidal wave.

 

Bodhi absently wondered if he’d be dashed to pieces when he finally reached the shore. . . .

 

Then he was moaning and gasping as Galen’s fingers left him entirely. Left him _empty_ and bereft.

 

“No . . . no, _don’t_. . . .”

 

“Hush, Little Magpie,” Galen soothed, kissing Bodhi’s damp face and kiss-swollen lips. “ _You_ must trust _me_ , now.”

 

“Always,” Bodhi exhaled, opening his eyes and trying to smile. “Trust you. Need you. Just . . . _please_.”

 

Galen’s smile was gentle and indulgent as he shifted a bit and placed his hands on Bodhi’s knees, spreading his legs even wider. He moved closer, letting go of Bodhi’s left knee, and then guided himself forward, until the tip of his cock was pressing into Bodhi without pause or preamble. Galen watched avidly as his cock breached Bodhi’s clasping, claiming flesh, and swore in Danish at the sight, licking his lips as the first two inches were hungrily taken in. Then he was looking up at Bodhi’s face again, that dangerous-ravenous light back in his normally mild eyes.

 

“I love you,” he said, leaning in to kiss Bodhi’s lips almost chastely, before sitting back again to study his face for long moments. Bodhi was about to ask what the problem was—why the hold-up—when Galen, without changing expression, drove his cock forward hard and fast, pinning Bodhi to the bed with his heavier, stronger body.

 

Surprised by the action and the instantaneous, rapturous _agony_ of being so suddenly full where, mere moments ago, there’d been only emptiness. Bodhi yelled, throwing his head back into the pillow, all his breath driven out of him in one rush. “G-Gal—”

 

But Galen didn’t even give Bodhi time to finish saying his name, let alone time to adjust to being so suddenly stretched and full. Instead, he pulled out just as fast as he’d thrust in, then went back for more, driving his cock home with a forceful snap of his hips.

 

And thus, the pace was set for the next while, Bodhi being driven up and pulled back down the bed, rocked from side to side as Galen turned and shifted him, this way and that, like a man on a mission. And that mission was accomplished when he hit Bodhi’s prostate like a battering ram, at full speed, once more forcing both breath and a high, nearly operatic cry from his dazed lover.

 

Bodhi’s cock, already hugging his body, much like Galen’s had been, somehow managed to get even harder, both blissfully and uncomfortably at the edge of no return. He flopped a limp, uncoordinated hand in the general direction of his straining hard-on and Galen, watching him like an enrapt hawk, swatted his hand away.

 

“Ah-ah, pretty bird. You’ll come when _I_ say you can come. Not a moment before and not a second later,” Galen informed him, his breathing sounding barely labored, his hips not slowing their pistoning one whit. He pushed Bodhi’s calves up and out, high and wide, and hitched Bodhi’s pelvis off the bed, grabbing and shoving a pillow under it and tilting Bodhi’s body back and up at an angle toward the headboard.

 

“Every time I think I’ve seen you at your hottest,” Bodhi huffed, gazing at Galen with wide, mesmerized eyes. “You prove me wrong. Happily, hornily, _wrong_. Manhandle the _fuck_ outta me, Professor, and _never_ stop.”

 

Galen’s smile widened, became pure, warm sunshine, rather than the cool, dangerous moonlight of the past however-long. His hips finally slowed and he leaned down again, despite the now awkward angle, and sucked a teasing kiss from Bodhi’s bitten lower lip.

 

“Lovely little bird,” he murmured, resting his forehead against Bodhi’s once more, for a spell. Then he was leaning back, his weight held up on one arm while his other came up so that he could caress Bodhi’s face. Then, that hand was drifting lightly down to Bodhi’s inner right thigh, fingers trailing inward and down, ignoring cock and balls, for Bodhi’s perineum—which he pinched and tugged until Bodhi was near tears—then beyond them.

 

Then Galen’s fingers traced the swollen ring of muscle stretched around his own cock. Bodhi could barely feel that tender, tantalizing touch along his over-sensitized hole, but nonetheless it made the feel of Galen in him even _more_ intense. Made Bodhi feel fuller and closer to the edge than ever.

 

But his body, ever obedient to the one that had brought it such heightened, ecstatic, unparalleled pleasure, refused to fall over.

 

Galen was watching him with that hooded, hawkish expression once more, as if waiting to see if Bodhi was going to disobey him and come unbidden.

 

Taking a deep breath and bearing up under that gaze, Bodhi tilted his head back into his pillow and, on his exhale, relaxed his entire body with a willpower he’d never have suspected of himself.

 

Galen grunted and slid into him a little deeper . . . until Bodhi was certain that he’d feel Galen’s cockhead bumping his tonsils at any moment.

 

He was quite alright with that possibility.

 

Smiling beatifically up at his lover, Bodhi focused on nothing, not even his own pleasure, so much as keeping himself open to Galen: ready and waiting to be used however Galen saw fit—to be taken to the apex of pleasure and beyond it . . . or to be brought to that edge repeatedly and repeatedly _kept_ _there_ , wanting and waiting.

 

Bodhi would take what he was given and—Galen would make certain of it—like it.

 

He would, in fact, come crawling back for more.

 

And he would come _only_ when he was given permission.

 

Eyes still closed, Bodhi nonetheless sensed when Galen leaned in again, awkward and close, and placed a reverent kiss between his brows, then pressed another to his lips.

 

“My sweet, obedient boy,” the other man murmured, sounding more impressed than he did indulgent, and more awed, even, than he was approving. “I’ll give you _whatever_ you ask me for. I’ll give you the _world_.”

 

“Already have, Professor,” Bodhi murmured back, submitting utterly to the thorough, possessive kiss that followed. And Galen, for his part, plundered Bodhi’s mouth like it was the only treasure he’d _ever_ wanted . . . the only treasure worth _having_.

 

Making a final, teasing circuit of Bodhi’s stretched, puffy hole, Galen’s fingers trailed back up to the steadily leaking cock that waited so patiently and well for his command. He stroked it once, like a man admiring a marvelously-textured sculpture, then began stripping it hard and fast, as if all the demons in Hell were after him to make one Bodhi Rook come like an atom bomb.

 

And Bodhi _wanted_ to.

 

He wanted to _so badly_.

 

But he _didn’t_.

 

He _wouldn’t_.

 

Not until Galen said the magic words.

 

“Look at me, Little Magpie. Open those lovely eyes and look at me.”

 

Still submitting himself to Galen’s will and whim, Bodhi did as he was told. He opened his eyes and met Galen’s without artifice or subterfuge, laying his heart bare, to be seen and taken—or not—as Galen so chose.

 

The older man smiled and pulled out of Bodhi almost completely, until only the tip of his cock was in Bodhi’s fever-hot, trembling-on-the-edge . . . patiently, obediently waiting body.

 

“ _Mine_ ,” he said tenderly, but without any give, whatsoever. This was _fact_ , not question. It was _not_ up for debate or demurring.

 

“ _Yours_ ,” Bodhi sighed, relieved and exultant. His place in this world was, at last, discovered. “Yours-yours-yours, _always_ yours. . . .”

 

Then, Galen was grasping Bodhi’s hips and pulling him forward just as he thrusted in like a human pile-driver. Bodhi was, by now, beyond shouting, and merely let out a soft, sighing whimper, holding Galen’s gaze and baring his throat in the world’s oldest signal of complete submission. Galen, still gripping Bodhi’s hips bruising-tight and driving his own urgent, turgid flesh into Bodhi’s, practically folded the younger man in half, in an effort to kiss him. And kiss him. And _kiss_ him. And then—

 

Then the _real_ fucking began.

 

#

 

It was just after dawn—and two hours before Bodhi’s first class of the day—when he let himself quietly back into the apartment he shared with Jyn and Cassian.

 

He gingerly crept down the hall, past the still-dark kitchen, past the living room—then backed-up, looking into the dawn-lit space. On the couch, back to the room, still wearing yesterday’s clothes of blue plaid shirt and baggy khakis, was Cassian Andor, snoring away. At least this time, however, he’d remembered to kick off his shoes before lying down on the couch. His long, narrow feet looked strangely vulnerable in his blue-green-yellow _Sponge Bob_ socks.

 

Smiling, Bodhi shook his head and would have walked on, when he noticed, still and silent, but for the clacking of forceful fingers on an abused keyboard, another person in the living room. Bodhi leaned in the arched entryway. Hunched forward on the loveseat, was a tall, lean, vaguely Asian-looking guy with pin-straight, fawn-colored hair in an un-trendy bowl-cut; a round, but serious, intense face; and long, spidery fingers that fairly flew over the keyboard of the poor laptop perched precariously on his bony, prominent knees. His outfit of plain white t-shirt, tucked into plain blue jeans, and finished off with unbranded tennis shoes, was somehow as neat as if he hadn’t been wearing it for upwards of a day.

 

“Good morning, Bodhi,” Kei Tousseau said with his usual, robotic zen. Bodhi smiled lamely.

 

“Hey, Kei. How’s it, uh, going?”

 

“It goes.”

 

“That’s cool,” Bodhi said, when Kei, as usual, didn’t inquire after him. Then he shifted a bit, wincing as he did so. He’d been hobbling since he’d crept out of Galen’s bed thirty-seven minutes, prior, upon waking up and realizing that he’d spent the night away from the apartment without informing either Jyn or Cassian that he expected to be away till the morning.

 

Cassian, at least, tended to worry about him.

 

Bodhi had dressed quickly, but quietly, pausing only to leave Galen a note on hotel stationery—which he then placed on Galen’s night table, next to the other man’s expensive wristwatch—and a fleeting, feather-light kiss on his mouth.

 

Then, Bodhi had regretfully let himself out of the suite. It’d felt as if he’d left his heart behind.

 

Now, tired, heartsore, and aching in more places than he could easily or discreetly catalogue, he found himself wishing he could talk to someone about everything that’d happened over the past two days. Or even just _yesterday_ , would do.

 

But he wasn’t about to wake Cassian out of a sound, and clearly _needed_ sleep just to confide his hopes and fears about his illicit relationship with his roommate’s widowed father.

 

And he certainly couldn’t talk to said roommate about it, either.

 

“Yes?” Kei asked serenely, neither looking up at Bodhi nor slowing his typing. Seriously, the guy was a _robot_. “Was there something you needed?”

 

Bodhi snorted sarcastically—Kei had this peremptory air about him. And wherever the other man was sitting was apparently his throne, because . . . _yeah_ —but drifted into the living room, shoving his keys and phone into his pockets, as well as his hands. He shuffled over to the loveseat and sat next to Kei with a sigh. A glance at the screen of Kei’s high-powered laptop revealed lines of code flying by faster than Bodhi could make heads or tails of it. It made his eyes hurt, as did the brightness level Kei had the screen at. He tugged his shades down off the top of his head and breathed a sigh of relief when they stood between his eyes and the bright-white screen and crazy-ass code.

 

“How’s the project goin’?”

 

“It, too, goes.”

 

“Kickass.”

 

“Quite.”

 

Silence fell again, in which Cassian snorted, rolled onto his back, moaned, then rolled back onto his side and resumed his dedicated snoring.

 

“Aw,” Bodhi said dryly. “They’re so cute at this age. They’re never tired until they pass out wherever they sit.”

 

Kei snorted and almost smiled. From him, it was practically a back-slap and guffaw.

 

“Cassian _is_ stubborn about trying to keep the same hours I do,” Kei said, sanguine and quiet. “Jyn gave up on trying to get him to go to bed around midnight.”

 

“Huh. Yeah. She usually does. Cassian’s one pigheaded mother.”

 

“As you say.” Kei didn’t stop typing, but _did_ cast a fond look at Cassian’s sleeping form. “For such a big, bad soldier, he certainly needs a lot of taking care of.”

 

“Yeah,” Bodhi said, thinking of Galen, asleep in the hotel bed, having kicked off the covers. Bodhi had made sure to straighten them and pull them up, tucking Galen in before he got dressed. And he’d done so barely taking his eyes off his slumbering lover, so boyish and peaceful in his repose. Solemn and vulnerable. . . . “Men can be quite the bundles of exasperating dichotomy. They make you either wanna kiss ‘em or kill ‘em. Mostly kiss, but . . . sometimes, kill.”

 

“Mm. I wouldn’t know.”

 

Curious, but for once too tired to not inquire, Bodhi glanced at Kei. “Is that so?”

 

Smiling a little, Kei nodded once, glancing wryly at Bodhi. “Indeed. I’m not a homosexual.”

 

Bodhi’s only response was a gentle lifting of his eyebrows, and Kei chuckled, measured and sedate. “Nor am I _heterosexual_ , it must be stressed. I’m . . . asexual would be the simplest explanation.”

 

“Go figure,” Bodhi said blandly, both surprised and . . . not, at his and Cassian’s suppositions being right, after all. “So . . . you _don’t_ have a thing for Cassian?”

 

“I’m not sexually attracted to him.”

 

“That isn’t exactly an answer to my question.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

And when Kei didn’t elaborate, Bodhi shrugged, content—for some reason—that Kei wouldn’t be trying to steal Jyn’s man any time soon.

 

Not that anyone _could_. Cassian was _Jyn’s_ and had been from almost the moment they met.

 

“So . . . cock, cunt—separately or concurrently . . . nothing does it for ya?”

 

“I’m afraid not.”

 

“Bummer.”

 

“I make the most of my free time. I’m rarely bored,” Kei added, his lips twitching like he wanted to laugh. Bodhi smiled and looked at the computer screen for a moment. Got vertigo and looked quickly away.

 

“So, I’m guessing that, uh, you being Ace, you probably don’t have much interest in romantic relationships or woes, huh?” Bodhi asked. “Especially the woes of some mook you don’t know that well.”

 

“I’m asexual, Bodhi, not an android,” Kei informed Bodhi who, gaping at this echoing of his own words to Cassian on Tuesday night, blushed then cleared his throat. “I may not desire _sexual_ interaction, but I’m not wholly without experience in that arena or sympathy for those who do battle in it. And as for romantic attachments—” a barely-there pause and another glance at Cassian “—while I feel it’s best for _me_ to avoid such entanglements, that doesn’t mean that I, myself, am immune to those feelings or the desire for close and exclusive companionship. I believe that mix of objectivity and empathy on my part can provide, up to a point, useful insight and advice based both in theory and in practice.”

 

Bodhi blinked, then shook his head. “English?”

 

Kei blinked, too, slow and amused. “Even though my experience regarding sex and romance is limited and specialized, being mostly through observation and conjecture, I believe that is _exactly_ what may make it helpful to you. I don’t have a horse in this race, as it were . . . no stake in your future with or without Professor Erso.”

 

“Oh.” Bodhi sighed and leaned back in the loveseat, resting his head against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t even know how to say it—where to begin.”

 

“Begin at the beginning,” Kei suggested evenly. Bodhi snorted.

 

“Alright, then: Jyn’s father and I are fucking.”

 

Those speedy, key-clacking fingers stuttered to a stop.

 

“I believe I suggested beginning at the _beginning_.”

 

“I know. And I _did_.”

 

“Hmm. Surely there was interaction before the first sexual liaison?” Bodhi glanced at Kei again and found the lanky, laconic man staring at Cassian again. Unreadably. “My understanding of sexual attraction is that while it may occasionally be instantaneous, there’s usually . . . a sounding-out or flirting phase, however brief, before action on that attraction takes place. Meaningful glances, banter, and the like.”

 

“Um.” Bodhi frowned in thought. “I picked him up from the airport and drove him back to Jedha. We talked some, on the way here.”

 

“And?”

 

“ _And_ . . . then he checked-in to his hotel suite and we . . . sorta flirted? But mostly we made out and gave each other handjobs. _Amazing_ handjobs. And a bellhop almost caught us in the act.” Bodhi snorted and sighed fondly. “That was the _best_ afternoon.”

 

“To each his own,” Kei said doubtfully. Bodhi laughed.

 

“Seriously, Kei. Galen’s got the _best_ hands. And his dick is _magical_. So’s his mouth—holy _God_ , his _mouth_ —”

 

“Please stop elaborating. Thank you.”

 

“Wha—oh. Sorry.” Bodhi blushed.

 

“Well.” Kei sniffed, but seemed mollified. “You’re interested in pursuing a purely sexual relationship with Professor Erso? Or are you looking for a romantic relationship, as well?”

 

“Not _looking for_ , Kei . . . _found_.” Meeting Kei’s curious gaze, Bodhi took a deep breath. “I’m in love with Galen Erso, and . . . I have good reason to believe he feels the same for me.”

 

Kei’s eyes widened.

 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Bodhi, but . . . Jyn’s father arrived in town Tuesday morning,” he said slowly. Bodhi nodded, brow furrowed and expression earnest. Kei shook his head once, seeming nonplussed. “I see. That is . . . indeed interesting.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Bodhi heaved another sigh. “I mean, it’s been a two-day roller coaster ride. We had sex, then he blew me off. We had dinner, and he wouldn’t stop sending mixed signals. I wound up randomly getting stoned then making out with this _hot_ waiter named Han, behind the restaurant. And Galen _caught us_ , and—”

 

“Wait—not . . . _Han Solo_? About six-foot-two, brown hair and eyes, smarmy sort of smile. Thinks he’s God’s gift to everyone and everything?” Kei asked, making quite the moue. Bodhi lit up.

 

“Yeah! I’m pretty sure we’re talkin’ about the same guy!” Bodhi laughed, absolutely delighted. “Small world! Are you two friends?”

 

“We . . . have met,” Kei said, frowning. “He’s my upstairs neighbor. Well,” sighing he shook his head again. “His best friend was my upstairs neighbor, first. A quiet enough sort until Han Solo became his roommate. Now, it’s nothing but loud, awful music; parties; and women and men of negotiable virtue hanging about the pool or ringing _my_ buzzer at all hours looking for _Han_.” Snorting, Kei scowled. “As if numbers 2E and 3E are the same place and three-thirty a.m. is a perfectly polite hour to ring someone’s buzzer.”

 

Bodhi laughed again. “I was almost one of those men of negotiable virtue. _Almost_ ,” he added when Kei gave him a horrified look. “What? Han is _hot!_ And I was . . . stoned and suffering from my first broken heart.”

 

Kei sighed, shaking his head. “So, Professor Erso _doesn’t_ return your feelings?”

 

“He does. He _did_. He just . . . was trying to do the right thing. Which he thought was us not being together at all.”

 

“What changed his mind?”

 

Bodhi snorted. “Seeing Han pinning me to a wall with his tongue down my throat.”

 

“. . . ah. . . .”

 

“Yeah. The jealousy is strong with that one. But a great motivator, it turns out. We had a . . . discussion after that and Galen came to his senses. He agreed that we should at least give _us_ a try and see where it goes.” Bodhi hunched forward, arms on knees, the fingers of his left hand twisting the _super-speshul_ Viking friendship-ring on his right ring finger. “Test the waters, so to speak. But I’m pretty sure after yesterday afternoon and evening—which I won’t elaborate on, only say that oh, my _God_ , that man is an incredible lover!—the test phase is _over_. Words were exchanged . . . namely the big _L-word_. Feelings happened. It’s . . . kind of a done deal. I think the real issue is gonna be telling Jyn. _That’s_ what’s got me worried. We agreed to keep on the down-low until we got _us_ sorted out, and were sure there was something there _worth_ risking telling Jyn about.”

 

“Hmm.” Kei bit his lip for a moment, staring at Bodhi’s restless hands, brow furrowed. “That’s an interesting ring. May I see it more closely?”

 

“What? Oh! Sure,” Bodhi said, easing the ring off and, with just a moment of hesitation, handing it to Kei, who held it up to the weak dawnlight and turned it every which way. The furrow deepened and he made a noise of surprise, before glancing at Bodhi and handing the ring back.

 

“Did Professor Erso give you that?”

 

“Yes. He spotted it at a flea market yesterday. He said he instantly thought of me when he saw it and wanted me to have it.” Bodhi flushed and smiled, putting the ring back on and admiring it. People had always told him gold looked better with his dark skin-tone, but Bodhi found he liked the look of Viking-silver on his body _just fine_.

 

“I see. And does the professor have a . . . working knowledge of the Younger Futhark?”

 

Gaping again, Bodhi looked at Kei, who was watching him with that placid, unreadable face—as blank and unfathomable as the surface of a moon. “He does. He said he’d tell me what the runes on it meant if . . . well. Later. He said he’d tell me _later_.” Flushed and clearing his throat, wondering if he’d been a good enough boy _last night_ to warrant getting a translation of the ring’s inscription, Bodhi shrugged and looked back down at said ring. “Do _you_ know what it means, Kei?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Of course, you do. It’s not at all random that a half-Japanese, half-French American would be fluent in Viking runes _as well as_ BASIC and Klingon.” Bodhi rolled his eyes when Kei intoned a solemn _Hislah!_ without an ounce of irony. “So, are you gonna tell me what the inscription _means_ , or just let the suspense kill me dead?”

 

Kei opened his mouth and closed it several times before finally smiling a little and meeting Bodhi’s expectant gaze with his own dark, inscrutably serene one.

 

“It means that whatever _else_ Professor Erso _wants_ , he’s certainly wants _you_ , and is committed to making your . . . relationship work. And that whatever else _you are_ . . . you’re a very lucky man to be so wanted by a person of character and discrimination,” Kei glanced at the ring again, his eyes shining, then at Cassian, who was muttering and snorting in his sleep. That small smile widened fractionally. “Men like that are, indeed, rare. _Hens’ teeth_ is, I believe, an accurate comparison.” Kei’s gaze returned to Bodhi, solemn again and weirdly intense despite their surface-calm. “My advice would be to focus on making each other feel loved and safe— _happy_ —and the rest _will_ fall into place for you. In time.”

 

Bodhi wanted to believe that. Tried to imagine it for the better part of a minute . . . but couldn’t quite get past the look of disappointment and disgust that would no doubt be on his best friend’s face should Bodhi and Galen come to her, hand-in-hand, looking for her blessing. “But Jyn,” he began hopelessly, knowing in his heart that her likely displeasure and refusal to accept Bodhi as a part of her father’s life could spell the end of _several_ relationships, not just his and Galen’s. “If she—”

 

“Oh,” Kei dismissed, waving his right hand before bringing it back to the keyboard. A second later, his spidery fingers were clacking away as if they’d never stopped. His eyes were back on his bright-bright screen, his attention unevenly divided once more, and in favor of his work. His voice had already taken on that absent, not-all-present tone Bodhi was used to. “If I were you, Bodhi Rook, I wouldn’t worry too much about Jyn’s reaction to your relationship with her father. She might . . . surprise you.”

 

That was _exactly_ what Bodhi was afraid of.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with me? If so, let me know I'm not spitting into the wind :-)
> 
> And come at me on [Tumblr](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com), as well!


	13. Gravity, Murphy's Law, and Other Universal Constants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting.

**“He loved more than anything to fly. His sole conflict was with gravity.”** **  
―** **Mark Z. Danielewski** **,** **House of Leaves**

 

“. . . and, of course, I have office hours for the next forty-five minutes, should there be any questions about the next assignment due or your final projects,” Professor Krennic said with his usual banality, his perfectly parted and styled hair glinting salt-and-pepper in the overhead lights. His cream-colored linen suit was immaculate, with neither wrinkle nor lint. “Do feel free to avail yourself of my time.”

 

 _Right_ , Bodhi thought cynically. After two years of the man’s classes and methods, he knew Professor Krennic well enough to read between those harmless words and that calm tone. What the Professor meant was: “I have forty-five minutes of office hours in which to see anyone foolish enough to come to me with their questions or problems about my very clear and reasonable instructions for assignments and for your last project. Enter my office at your own risk and abandon, ye, all hope, who enter here.”

 

Snorting quietly, Bodhi, like the rest of Professor Krennic’s dozen-and-a-half overwhelmed, under-informed students, put away his notes—hand-written, as the professor abhorred the clacking of laptop keys in his lectures, and didn’t trust his students not to be playing “the Minesweeper or some such” on their dime and his time—and prepared to clear out of the lecture hall.

 

As he slung his backpack over his right shoulder, Bodhi took his phone out of the hip-pocket of his plaid shorts and edged his way out of the fifth row, past Yoshi Mitaka and Deneen Pava, who were talking intensely about their D&D group, of which Deneen was the DM and Yoshi . . . was possibly angling for her job. Both of them said absent _hey_ s to Bodhi, but only had suspicious, wary eyes for each other.

 

J _eez, they should just fuck already, and have done,_ Bodhi thought, hitching his backpack a little higher on his shoulder and tossing a “hang chilly, nerd-bots,” back at the D &D fanatics.

 

Once in the aisle, he unlocked his phone and saw he had several unread text messages. He was surprised, despite having felt the light, heartbeat-vibration when the messages had started arriving, about an hour into Professor Krennic’s nigh incomprehensible lecture.

 

Opening his message center, he saw that there were exactly seven messages. Four from Jyn, about an hour ago, one from Cassian, fifteen minutes ago, and two from Galen . . . the first nearly two hours ago, the second about ten minutes ago.

 

**Jyn-ger Beer: Howdy, cowboy!**

**Jyn-ger Beer: Sent a surprise your way! You must’ve made quite the impression!**

**Jyn-ger Beer: You’re welcome, BTW :-)**

**Jyn-ger Beer: And bring in ALMOND MILK when you come home, will you? Cassian drank the last of it and left the empty carton in the fridge for me to find and apparently stare at while I ate my Lucky Charms dry :-(**

**Sassy Cassy: Bring home almond milk. None left.**

**Galen <3: Fancy having lunch with me around twelve? Assuming I can find my way to your college and classroom?**

**Galen <3: You look so bored listening to Orson drone on, min lille Magpie. The man never did know when to shut up. . . .**

 

Smirking as he made his way down to the door, Bodhi started to type out a response, then paused.

 

 _Wait a minute,_ he thought, putting two and two together shamefully slowly. He looked up at the door to the lecture hall and saw a familiar, pale, handsome face peering in the small window set three-quarters of the way up from the floor, and smiling.

 

“You douche,” Bodhi murmured fondly as Galen winked and waved, then moved away from the window as the first of Bodhi’s tired and stressed-out peers and friends shuffled out the door. Still smiling, Bodhi waited for the very last of them to file out, just to be a little shit to a wryly grinning Galen.

 

It was only when Yoshi and Deneen—speaking in clipped, hostile sentence fragments—finally exited the room through the door Galen held open, and the only other person left in the hall besides Krennic and Bodhi, was tall, burly, shuffling T.J. Wexley, that Bodhi resumed his saunter to the door. He dragged it out just because he could, making a show of striding slow and cool. Galen rolled his eyes, then was blocked briefly from Bodhi’s sight when T.J. got to the doorway first.

 

“Oh, Mr. Rook?”

 

Bodhi flinched and paused, a mere meter from the door Galen was holding open for him. T.J., the last straggler besides Bodhi, had slipped out, giving Galen a curious, but ultimately disinterested glance. But Galen only had eyes for Bodhi. _Questioning_ eyes that darted to Professor Krennic, then back to Bodhi, with even more questions and a little displeasure.

 

Making an apologetic face at Galen, then pasting a compliant smile _over_ said face, Bodhi took a deep breath and turned to face Professor Krennic.

 

“Yes, Professor?”

 

Krennic was looking over some logs and journal entries unhurriedly then putting them neatly in his burgundy leather briefcase. “How goes your project?”

 

Stifling a sigh—he’d already turned in the notes from his journal and log for the past few days, and that was surely one of the packets of papers Krennic was putting in his voluminous briefcase—Bodhi hunched his shoulders and took a few steps toward his professor.

 

“It goes, Professor Krennic,” Bodhi said, ala Kei Tousseau, then flinched again when Krennic’s austere profile frowned. “By which I mean it’s coming along steadily and mostly problem-free.”

 

“Ah. Well, then, that’s good to hear. You do realize, of course, that if you have any questions or would like advice on either execution or presentation of your . . . unique project, you are certainly free to avail yourself of my expertise?” Krennic at last turned his pleasant, somehow disdainful smile on Bodhi, who repressed an eye-roll that would _not_ have gone over well.

 

“Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor.” Bodhi bit his lip as he chose his words carefully. “I know I was having issues with the execution as of a couple weeks ago, but lately, I feel as if I’m starting to get a real handle on the theory part. And that when I’m ready to tackle the execution again, it’ll come out better than the other simulations I showed you.”

 

“Excellent, Mr. Rook.” Krennic’s smile gentled in a condescending way. “But remember that the due date for your project and its presentation are fast approaching. Spring Break is upon us in less than ten days. Buckling down on the theory is all well and good, but really should’ve been done over the past several months. And the past two years. _Now_ is the time to be putting all that theory to _practice_ , yes?”

 

“Yes, Professor. Of course, Professor.”

 

That smile widened and the Professor looked back at his papers. “Good. We shall all look forward to your project and presentation. And the theory you’ve been putting to good use behind said project, as well. I imagine both your theoretical and practical applications will be flawless.”

 

Bodhi’s mouth worked soundlessly for so long, Krennic finally looked up, that patronizing, almost contemptuous smile playing about his curling, thin-ish mouth. He started to say something else, but then his eyes flicked over Bodhi’s shoulder and all expression left his face but for sheer shock.

 

Then he was blinking, fast and repeatedly, as if suspecting himself of hallucinating. Finally, he closed his eyes for a moment, sighing: “Galen.”

 

Before Bodhi could automatically look behind him to watch his lover’s approach—with both realization and apprehension, because from what Galen had said, he and Krennic had not been friends back when they knew each other—a strong arm slid around his waist and soft lips dropped a tender kiss on his right temple. “Orson, stop being a prick and leave Bodhi be.”

 

Mouth dropping open in an intelligent gape, Bodhi blanched then blushed, glancing at Professor Krennic, who’d opened his eyes again and was staring at Galen’s hand, where it rested pointedly, possessively, on Bodhi’s hip.

 

“What’re you doing here, Galen?” Krennic asked in a calm, but breathless voice. Galen squeezed Bodhi closer, until Bodhi was leaning into him, both embarrassed and glad of the unsubtly claiming gesture and prolonged contact.

 

“I’m here to take Bodhi to lunch,” Galen replied almost languidly. “something tells me he’s had a rather . . . stressful, strenuous morning and could use the sustenance and the company.”

 

Krennic’s sea-blue eyes narrowed slightly and he looked down, a bitter moue playing about his down-turned mouth. “I meant what brings you to Jedha, at all?”

 

“Happy tidings, Orson. I’m here to see my daughter, Jyn. She’s a student at UNMJ. Pre-law,” Galen said with unhidden pride. “She’s also engaged to be married and the elopement is in two days.”

 

“Ah. Congratulations,” Krennic added with stilted upbeat-ness, his gaze straying to Galen’s hand on Bodhi’s hip, once more. There, it lingered for long, less-than-comfortable moments. Bodhi glanced up at Galen uncertainly and found a closed-off, almost coldly unreadable expression on the other man’s normally open face. “You must be so proud.”

 

“Thank you, I am.” Now, Galen’s voice was as closed-off and cold as his face. Bodhi looked away, confused, and found himself glancing at the professor again. For once, the normally cool, extra-confident man looked downright hesitant and uncomfortable. Out-of-place and small. He started grabbing papers and packets by the handful and shoving them into his briefcase seemingly willy-nilly, all but flinching when Galen spoke again. “I’ll extend your well wishes to her and her fiancé.”

 

“Please, do so.” Krennic looked up and his gaze ticked from Galen’s face to Bodhi’s, and his eyes narrowed again, some of that lost-and-sad look leaving his face. “And . . . how do you know my student?”

 

“Bodhi is a friend of my daughter and of her fiancé. And of mine.” Another possessive, unmistakable squeeze that left Bodhi blushing and Krennic frowning like he’d never seen a smile in his entire life.

 

“I see,” he said flatly, his eyes scanning Bodhi slowly, with obvious contempt, now, ending at Bodhi’s eyes with unpleasant promise. “Well. I _do_ hope that the friendship that’s flowered between you two also extends to advising Mr. Rook on his project? I am, as you know, an exacting mentor, and Mr. Rook . . . certainly needs all the help he can get.”

 

And with a sniff, his things packed away and desk clear, Professor Krennic zipped and latched the expensive briefcase. He turned away from the desk and approached Bodhi and Galen, stopping a good distance away to make his detour around them, eyes trained determinately on the exit. But before he could pass them, Galen put out a hand, laying it heavily on Krennic’s shoulder. The shorter man stopped, but didn’t look away from the exit.

 

“Orson,” Galen said, sounding a bit discomfited, himself. “I never got a chance to express my . . . outrage over what Tarkin did to you regarding Palpatine’s pet project and your brilliant theories, all those years ago—”

 

“What happened happened,” Krennic said, still cold and tight, but angry, now, as well. “It doesn’t do to dwell in the past. That’s not where one’s energies are remotely useful.”

 

“True,” Galen agreed, his voice thawing and almost kind. “But an injustice done to one is an injustice done to all. Especially among engineers and inventors. Wouldn’t you agree?”

 

And Galen’s voice was both heavy and layered, his arm around Bodhi tightening yet again.

 

Krennic still didn’t look over at them, though a muscle near his mouth ticked once.

 

“I do agree,” he said finally, quietly. “After all, what are men without their honor to lift them above the level of mere beasts?”

 

“I couldn’t have put it better, myself,” Galen said graciously, letting his hand fall away from Krennic’s tense shoulder. “And I know that there’s no professor in whose capable hands I could better trust Bodhi’s mentoring and education than you, Orson. Thank you for teaching him so thoroughly and well.”

 

Now, at last, Krennic glanced at them warily, his eyes darting down and up again, from Bodhi’s clasped waist to Galen’s eyes.

 

“I’m a stern, but fair mentor to all my students, Galen. Always have been. Mr. Rook is no exception. Nor will he be.” Sniffing, Professor Krennic nodded to Bodhi. “See you on Monday morning, Mr. Rook.”

 

“You, too, Professor.”

 

A quirking of dark, sardonic eyebrows. “Yes. And don’t forget your journal and log.”

 

“I won’t, sir.” Bodhi restrained himself from rolling his eyes. He’d never once forgotten either, unlike some of his peers. Bodhi was nothing, if not aware of and dedicated to his responsibilities. “Have a good day.”

 

“You both, as well.” With another glance at Galen, Professor Orson Krennic was gone in a waft of Burberry cologne and strangely bruised feelings, leaving Bodhi and Galen alone in the mid-sized lecture hall.

 

“Galen,” Bodhi began, looking up at his lover, who was staring after Krennic with a furrowed, concerned brow. “What in the Hell—”

 

But Galen kissed the words from his lips and the thoughts from his brain, only letting Bodhi up when the younger man was clutching at him to hold himself up since his knees were no longer up to the task.

 

“I missed you,” Galen breathed on his mouth, before capturing it again, all wet, hot urgency. His hands roamed up and down Bodhi’s back, from nape, to ass, with almost bruising intent. “I woke up and you were gone. My pretty bird had flown. . . .”

 

“Mmm . . . hadda . . . hadda get ready for my day. Had Professor Kenobi for Ethics at 8:20. Then Krennic at 10:15. I couldn’t stay any later than I did.”

 

“That’s too bad. I had been planning to wish you _good morning_ in a way I’m fairly sure you’d have approved of,” Galen murmured, low and heated, and Bodhi shivered.

 

“Well, it’s _never_ too late to say good morning. Or _good afternoon_.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“So. . . ?”

 

Galen laughed. “So,” he replied, stealing another quick kiss. “I was thinking I’d take you for lunch, then back to my suite, and spend the rest of the afternoon wishing you a very—” kiss “— _very_ good morning.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, Professor.” Bodhi sighed happily, tension and all thoughts of his project abandoning him for the time being. “What’re you in the mood for?”

 

“ _You_ ,” Galen whispered. “Only you.”

 

Bodhi didn’t even bother to repress his eye-roll, this time. “I meant to _eat_ , horn-dog.”

 

“Hmm . . . I stand by my answer.”

 

“It’s sad when _I’m_ the adult in the relationship.” Bodhi snickered. “How about this great fusion cuisine place I know in West Jedha, near the apartment. It’s called _Takodana_. Then maybe I could take you back to said apartment and show you around. The view from my bedroom is _especially_ nice in the afternoon.”

 

“That . . . sounds a bit risky,” Galen said slowly, frowning a little. “Jyn’s going to be there until around two. She said as much before she dropped me off here.”

 

“Yeah, and you and I are gonna be at Maz’s till at least two, anyway, because the portions are seriously fucking _huge_. Maz feeds everyone like they’re her starving grandchildren. Or great-grandchildren,” Bodhi corrected, realizing he had no idea how old Maz was, only that she’d owned her sprawling restaurant-cum-music venue for about a _thousand_ years, and had lived a very full and _colorful_ life even _before_ that. Then he shrugged. “Point being, by the time we get back to the apartment, Jyn’ll be at her internship, our secret’ll be safe, and the only thing we’ll have to worry about is having food-dick and maybe not being able to get it up.”

 

Galen’s smile was small and wry, his eyes soft and fond. “You’ll never have to worry about me being able to . . . get it up for you, _lille Magpie_. No matter how much food I’ve had.”

 

“Sure, you say that _now_ ,” Bodhi rolled his eyes and grinned. “But seriously. Maz’ll feed us both till we pop like greedy, stupid-ass goldfish.”

 

Galen chuckled. “That’s . . . very descriptive.”

 

“And very true.”

 

“I take that as a challenge, then. Lunch at this _Takodana_ , and then. . . .” Galen leaned in, swaying Bodhi in his arms in a small box-step. Bodhi laughed and stumbled along with him, just proud he didn’t step on his lover’s feet, never mind keeping time with him. “Then you take me on a whirlwind tour of your bedroom.”

 

“Mmm, of my _bed_.”

 

“ _Especially_ that.” Galen’s right hand left the small of Bodhi’s back to grip Bodhi’s left ass cheek _very_ firmly, urging him closer, till they were flush against one another. Bodhi moaned, soft and quiet, his eyes closing as he pressed himself into Galen’s warm, solid body. “Jyn won’t be home again until after eight.”

 

“I know.”

 

“That means we’ll have to find a way to fill five-plus hours of alone-time.”

 

“Why fill hours when you can fill me?”

 

Galen winced. “That . . . was the worst innuendo I’ve ever heard.”

 

“That was _sublime_ , and you know it. _You’re_ just jealous that you didn’t come up with it,” Bodhi said, chuckling again. Galen joined him for a few seconds and, by mutual, but unspoken agreement, they kissed each other tenderly, still swaying to music only they could hear.

 

#

 

Not ten feet away, peering from behind the open door to the lecture hall—hidden by the door, itself—Professor Orson J. Krennic frowned as the affectionate couple continued their impromptu box-step, kissing, and so clearly smitten that it was . . . rather disgusting.

 

Without realizing he was doing so, Krennic stepped fully from behind the door, staring hard at the couple, who were, yes, still kissing and swaying. They were so lost in each other that they didn’t feel the gaze that bored into them intently enough that their clothing and hair should have burst into flames.

 

Nor did they note when, nearly a minute later, Orson Krennic—scowling, and with his sea-blue eyes shining more than mere wakefulness could account for—stormed off in the opposite direction of his office in the Edson Faculty Tower, and toward the campus administration building.

 

#

 

Hand in hand, Bodhi and Galen crossed the quad and made their way to the Cordero-Jones Student Parking Facility. They got more than a few stares: partly because they were two men holding hands and walking close in a way that only intimates would. And partly because if Bodhi had a rep at all on campus—which he was pretty sure he didn’t—it was for _never_ hooking up with anyone or even dating anyone (except for Jyn’s lawyer friend, who hadn’t even been a student when he and Bodhi went on their one date).

 

So, the hails and stares Bodhi and Galen got from the former’s friends and acquaintances were quite puzzled and amused—a few were disapproving—while others, still, were a bit envious and even lecherous.

 

It wasn’t until the quad was behind them and they were crossing the stretch of desolate, dusty, sun-drenched macadam between the carefully-tended green quad and the parking facility, still holding hands, that Bodhi remarked: “So, that was a _lot_ of staring we got.”

 

“Mm,” Galen agreed, swinging their finger-laced hands twice, back and forth. Then he let go of Bodhi’s hand to slide an arm around his waist. “I think it was mostly for you. After all, people like to look at gorgeous things.”

 

Bodhi flushed and leaned into Galen, sliding his own arm around his lover’s waist as they stepped under the overhang that led into the facility. With his free hand, Bodhi pushed his glasses up on his head. “You’re fulla shit, Professor Erso. I look just like I _always_ do. People never stared at me before. Ergo, it’s either because we’re two men exhibiting PDAs; because everyone who knows me is surprised someone like you would be interested in _me;_ or because you’re so fucking handsome and sexy that no matter who you’re with, people stare. Personally, I think it’s a little from column A and column B, with a _lot_ from column C.”

 

Galen kissed the crown of Bodhi’s head. “You may not realize it, Bodhi, but . . . you’re practically glowing.”

 

“Does that mean ya knocked me up?”

 

Laughing, Galen hugged Bodhi close. “As . . . weirdly happy as such an event would make me, no. I _don’t_ think I knocked you up. I do, however, hope—since happiness tends to make some people glow—that the light that seems to surround you and shine out of you has something to do with me.”

 

Bodhi led them between an Acura and a Jeep, toward A12, the row in which he’d parked Rogue. “If I’m glowing at all, whether or not it has to do with being knocked up, it’s all down to _you_ , Professor.” He stopped and Galen stopped with him, pulling the smaller man into his arms. “You make me _happy_ , Galen. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life. You’re the most special and amazing person I’ve _ever_ known and for some crazy reason, you wanna be with _me_ , so . . . yeah. I’m glowing, babe. I’m on top of the fucking _world!_ ”

 

Galen’s smile was wondering, his eyes gentle. “Bodhi, you’re the most lovely, funny, smart, sweet young man I’ve ever had the pleasure of getting to know. And the more I know you, the more I _want_ to know you. The more of you I have, the more of you I _want_ of you. And I _don’t_ want to let you go. _Ever_. If even fifty percent of that enchanting glow is because of the way I make you feel . . . then I’m a lucky man, indeed. If _I_ glow even a tenth as bright as you do, then it’s no wonder we garnered so many stares, pretty bird.” That wondering smile widened. “They stare because happiness and love are impossible to ignore when they shine so brightly as when _we’re_ together.”

 

Gazing up into Galen’s eyes, Bodhi smiled— _sappily_ , he was sure—and bounced up on his toes to steal a kiss that turned into a long clinch, which only ended when a raggedy, mustard- brown Hyundai with incongruous yellow racing stripes zoomed past the car they were in meltdown against.

 

Panting on each other’s partly-opened mouths, they laughed breathlessly, Bodhi’s hands coming up to cup Galen’s face. He pressed several small, sweet kisses to the older man’s face.

 

“Maybe we should continue this in Rogue,” he murmured. Galen chuckled, just as breathless and low.

 

“Maybe we should, _min engel_.”

 

Another kiss, brief, but slow and deep, and they were parting regretfully, yearningly, despite the relative nearness of privacy. Galen held out his hand and Bodhi placed his own in it again. “C’mon. Rogue’s not far.”

 

And indeed, she wasn’t. Just a few more rows—Bodhi’s and Galen’s little liaison had happened in A7—and they’d be home-free. And for once, for the first time, Bodhi was going to make good on his promise to give his lover a blowjob, complete with either swallowing, or snowballing. Whichever Galen preferred.

 

Bodhi was, in fact, musing on this pleasant first that was sure to finally happen between them when they stepped into A11 and saw two people making out against a brown-and-tan Dodge Ram 250—and quite a cherry specimen, too, if Bodhi was any judge (and he was).

 

 

The taller of the two, a brunet all dressed in black, was pinning a markedly smaller blonde—or _blond_ , for it seemed they were both male—dressed in beige and brown against the side of the van, feeling him up with absolutely no restraint, hands roaming everywhere, trying to inch down the backs of the blond’s tight, beige skinny jeans. The blond had his left leg wrapped around his partner’s right and was frantically grinding against the taller man’s thigh.

 

For nearly a minute, Bodhi and Galen could only stare at the couple in a meltdown that made their most recent one look like a chaste pat on the head. Then, Bodhi and Galen were looking at each other.

 

“Think that’s what we look like when _we_ make out?” Bodhi asked. Galen shrugged, smiling a little as he glanced back at the amorous and oblivious couple.

 

And then, they were both silently watching as the taller man grasped the smaller under his thighs and proceeded to lift him up and slam him against the side of the Ram 250. At which point, the blond made a noise of protest that was practically a whine.

 

“ _Haaaaan_ ,” he huffed out. The brunet buried his face in the blond’s neck, clearly sucking hickeys into the moaning man’s throat.

 

“ _What_? Uh—too hard? Sorry, kiddo.”

 

“No, _not_ too hard for me, but . . . ya gotta be careful with _Baby_ . . . she’s a _classic_ ,” the blond said, arching away from the van at his back and into his partner’s body. He freed his hand from its grasp of the brunet’s neck to pat the side of the van. “Uncle Owen and I rebuilt her from scrap ourselves. Last thing we ever did together. . . .”

 

“Oh. Fuck, baby, I’m sorry,” the brunet apologized, straightening and carefully putting the blond down. He ran a hand through his medium-brown hair and with it brushed back away from his face, Bodhi could make out his profile and, upon recognizing said profile, gasped. Suddenly, two gazes, one brown and one blue, one familiar and one not, whipped toward him and Galen.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Galen said after a full half-minute of stunned silence. “It’s that sleazy waiter.”

 

“ _Han?!_ ” Bodhi blurted out. The man in question grinned, all but dropping his partner, who squawked in startled offense.

 

“Heyya, Bodhi, I—wait a sec, Pops, who’re you callin’ a _waiter_?”

 

“Han?” The blond looked from Bodhi, to Galen, then back to Han. “What’s going on? You know these guys?”

 

Han Solo blushed—turned red all over his face and neck—and looked between his current partner and his almost-partner. Then back again. “Uh . . . yeah. Sorta. It’s a funny story, actually.”

 

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t mean funny- _haha_?” the blond asked, sounding equally torn between amusement and exasperation.

 

“Uh. See, I was, uh, working my shift at the _Cantina_ a couple days ago, and—uh. . . .”

 

Bodhi watched Han stammer and blush for a moment before stepping forward with a big, dumb smile on his own face and his hand extended for shaking. “Hi, I’m Bodhi and this’s my boyfriend Galen. Han was our server the other night and he was just so attentive and _helpful!_ Galen and I can’t even _remember_ when we were so well taken care of . . . isn’t that right, babe?”

 

When Bodhi glanced back at Galen, the older man was still standing back near the bumper of a red Ford Focus parked in A10, arms crossed, face set in a disapproving scowl.

 

“That’s absolutely right. I can’t remember when I last had such a memorable dining experience, thanks to Han,” Galen said flatly, without inflection, giving Han the stink-eye. When Bodhi turned his own dumb grin back to Han and his partner, it was to see Han smiling his most charming smile down at the blond, who was blinking huge blue eyes up at Han somewhat disbelievingly.

 

“See, doll-face? I told ya I was a doin’ great at the _Cantina_. I think Jabba only fired me because Jack Greedo was whispering in his ear and gettin’ me into trouble,” Han said nervously. The blond crooked an incredulous eyebrow.

 

“I dunno, Han . . . you get fired an awful lot for such an innocent, little lambkins.”

 

“Sweetheart, I tell ya . . . these assholes get _jealous_ of me, and they just _look_ for excuses to get me outta the way. Jabba never liked me to begin with and that Greedo’s just a fuckin’ bag of dicks.”

 

The blond sighed, shaking his head, but almost smiling. He stood on his tiptoes and kissed Han’s lips, then the tip of his nose. “ _You’re_ a fuckin’ bag of dicks, Solo, but . . . a charming and irresistible one.”

 

At this rather faint praise, Han grinned and preened. “Ah, Luke-honey, you say the sweetest things.”

 

“The better to get in your pants with, my dear.” The blond— _Luke_ —smirked and looked over at Bodhi and Galen as Han kissed and nuzzled his cheek. Luke’s big, cornflower-blue eyes were sparkling knowingly. Bodhi got the distinct feeling that the compact man had probably guessed that his lover had some less-than-savory connection to Bodhi and Galen, but wasn’t overly upset about it.

 

Bodhi supposed that one learned to not get upset about less-than-savory situations when one was entangled with Han Solo.

 

“So, since Han’s forgotten his manners, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Lucas George Skywalker,” the blond said amicably, finally reaching out to shake Bodhi’s hand. “I teach the Intro to Agro section.”

 

Bodhi blinked and held the shake just a second longer than he meant to, before letting go. “Nice to meet you—I’m Bodhi Rook and this is Dr. Galen Erso—um. _You’re_ a _professor?_ You’re, like, my age!”

 

“Maybe a little older. I look a lot younger than I am,” Luke said, chuckling good-naturedly. “I’m twenty-eight.”

 

Bodhi shook his head, nonetheless impressed. “That’s _still_ super-young to be a professor. And you _look_ like you’re nineteen!”

 

“He’s my hot, jailbait baby,” Han agreed in a voice more suited to a bedroom, if not two fewer people in hearing range. Luke blushed, deep and bright, his fair complexion gone almost totally scarlet.

 

“Han Nehemiah Solo, I will judo-chop you.”

 

“ _Nehemiah_?” Bodhi mouthed at Han, who cleared his throat and winced.

 

“My jailbait baby’s also a third-degree black belt in Karate and kind of a big deal in Muay Thai, if ya listen to the scuttlebutt in martial arts circles,” Han explained, stepping neatly over the question of his hideous— _hilarious_ —middle name.

 

Galen, meanwhile, cleared his throat over a laugh and Bodhi was grinning, his eyebrows halfway to his hairline. Han scowled at Luke, who shrugged and looked innocent, his own blush starting to fade from his face, if not his neck and ears.

 

“Anyway,” Han said forbiddingly, and Luke laughed outright, leaning in to kiss Han’s cheek tenderly. The taller man was the one to blush, now, looking strangely vulnerable for a few moments before going on. “Luke, here, is the _youngest_ professor to teach at UNMJ, period, let alone in the agriculture department,” he said proudly, taking Luke’s hand and squeezing it before smirking at Bodhi and Galen. “He’s on the tenure track, too.”

 

“ _On_ it, but then, so is every hungry adjunct prof at UNMJ,” Luke demurred, holding his free hand out to Galen, who came forward to take it, pumping it three times before letting go with a polite smile. “I’m just another farm-boy with more book-learnin’ than he ought to have and not enough common sense to keep my ass on the north-forty.”

 

“A _sexy_ farm-boy with more book-learnin’ than he ought to have,” Han rumbled, pulling Luke closer. Luke rolled his eyes, but didn’t resist. “And if you’d stayed on the north-forty, we’d never have met. And even though it took forever for us to get here, aren’tcha glad we did?”

 

Luke’s cheeks began to turn red, once more. “I’m always glad to be in the rare patches of shade this campus offers, Han.”

 

“ _So_ not what I’m talkin’ about, doll-face, and you know it.” Han was using that bedroom-voice again and Luke just got redder. He was starting to look like a blue-eyed beet.

 

After the past few days, Bodhi could entirely commiserate.

 

“ _Anyway_ ,” Luke said, gone that violent scarlet again, but with an air as of sweeping any awkwardness under the rug. “Han and his friend, Chewie, are throwing a party at their apartment complex, tomorrow night. And since you two and Han seem to be on . . . friendly terms,” he went on, his eyebrows raised in question and amusement. “You should come by and hang out. Both of you.”

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Galen said stiffly, at the same time Bodhi said: “Wow, that sounds great!”

 

Luke’s and Han’s gazes ticked between the pair as they exchanged glances. Bodhi widened his eyes pleadingly and Galen rolled his. “This is a very busy week for us, Magpie.”

 

“Which means we’ll need some time to unwind on a Friday night. Just for a few hours,” Bodhi persisted, pouting and using the puppy-eyes. Galen rolled his own eyes once more. “It’s a chance to cut loose and relax.”

 

“I can think of a few ways to go about that which don’t involve us leaving my suite,” Galen murmured quietly. Bodhi flushed and nearly moaned. But then he took a deep, shaking breath and recollected himself.

 

“We’ll be there!” he said brightly, turning to Luke and Han, the former of whom quirked a boyish, pleased grin, while Han smirked and waggled his eyebrows. Grinning, Bodhi took out his phone and unlocked it. “Let’s all exchange numbers and emails so you can send us directions and any other deets.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Luke agreed, shoving Han back a little and taking out his own phone, grumbling absently as Han pulled him close again, nuzzling Luke’s straight, cornsilk-fine hair as the younger man glanced at Galen knowingly. “I’ll text you and send it to both of your emails, and you could maybe sync it to your Google calendars? I’d, uh, hate for you to forget in the busyness of your week.”

 

“You’re a man after my own, heart,” Bodhi declared, already typing Luke’s name into his Contacts. “Ready when you are, Luke.”

 

At Bodhi’s side, Galen snorted. At Luke’s side, Han continued to smirk. And Bodhi and Luke, for their parts, happily exchanged numbers—and emails, addresses, and other social media information—already chatting easily and laughing like Bee-Eff-Effs while their respective boyfriends stared each other down.

 

#

 

“They’re a ridiculously attractive couple,” Bodhi said as he let himself and Galen into building E of the Vista Verde Estates apartment complex, backpack slung over one shoulder, the other hand splayed on his slightly distended stomach. Maz’s hospitality had been as good as Bodhi’s word. “Fucking _adorable_ , too.”

 

“Your waiter talks too much.”

 

“He’s not _my_ waiter, Galen, he’s just _a_ waiter . . . an ex-waiter. He’s . . . he’s _Luke’s_ _lover_. Just like _you’re_ mine.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

“And that was _really_ nice of Luke to pay for lunch at Maz’s. Nice of them to join us at all.”

 

“Well, I _had_ been looking forward to a romantic lunch for two. . . .” Galen sighed.

 

“We can have that _tomorrow_ , maybe after we see the Old Temple. Or before, depending on if you wanna stay in bed all morning,” Bodhi wheedled. Galen blinked and his eyes narrowed as they entered the small foyer of the building.

 

“That sounds quite nice,” he allowed slowly. “Nicer, anyway, than sitting through another three-hour lunch with Mr. Solo.”

 

Bodhi laughed. “Aw, c’mon, Professor . . . Han grows on you.”

 

“Like a fungus. Or maybe a rash.”

 

At his lover’s mutter, Bodhi elbowed him chummily. “You’re just jealous that I think Han is a—distant—second in sexiness to _you_.”

 

“Heavens forfend.” Galen finally looked around himself with polite interest—not that there was much to see, yet, besides mailboxes against both walls of the brief foyer, and a short staircase leading up to the first floor—then shook his head. “He’s an overdone lothario.”

 

“True, and yet that doesn’t make him _any_ less attractive. And Luke is just so good-natured, down-to-Earth, and fun. . . .”

 

“And _far_ out of Mr. Solo’s league.”

 

“Galen!”

 

“What?”

 

Bodhi huffed. “That’s . . . not a very nice thing to say!”

 

“Well, the truth isn’t always pretty,” Galen said loftily, and Bodhi snorted.

 

“Dude, I can’t believe you’re _still_ so jealous that Han and I had a . . . brief, inebriated moment!”

 

“I’m not jealous of that jackass.”

 

“Methinks the professor doth protest too much.”

 

Galen glared as Bodhi grinned and retrieved his and his roommates’ mail, sorting through it absently as he led Galen up the stairs, past the first floor and the second, to the third. The early afternoon sun beat hotly in through the stairwell’s tall windows and even Galen shaded his eyes as he followed Bodhi.

 

When they stepped into the third-floor hallway, Bodhi smiled back at his lover promisingly, squeezing the large hand linked with his own.

 

“It’s this way, Professor,” he said, low and sultry, pushing up his glasses to give Galen an anticipatory once-over. The older man smiled and suddenly pulled Bodhi to him—against him—and into a long, ravenous kiss.

 

They backed down the hallway, Bodhi somehow leading them unerringly to the correct apartment, 316E, and managing to dig his keys out of his pocket without interrupting the kiss.

 

“You know, if you stop distracting me, we can continue this in my _bed_ , instead of on my doorstep like a couple of dogs in heat,” Bodhi huffed when they surfaced. Galen had him pinned against the door to the apartment and Bodhi had dropped his keys and the mail some minutes ago.

 

“You’re absolutely right, lovely bird.” Galen sighed, flushed and panting, his hands clenched on Bodhi’s ass, his thigh wedged between Bodhi’s for grinding on. “In theory, bed is _far_ better than a doorstep. But in practice . . . the doorstep isn’t so bad, either.”

 

“True. But still.” Bodhi snickered and pushed on Galen’s chest until, with another sigh, Galen stepped back. He bent to retrieve Bodhi’s keys and the mail, handing the former over with a flourish. Bodhi took them, bobbing up to plant a chaste kiss on Galen’s cheek. “Thank you, baby.”

 

“Any time, _min smukke kæreste_.”

 

Smiling his smitten, goofy-feeling smile, Bodhi turned to unlock the door and let them into the apartment. The moment the door was open, before Bodhi could even shove his keys back into his pocket and step over the threshold, Galen had pulled his lover back against him, grinding against his plaid-covered ass and interspersing the grinding with hard, truncated thrusts.

 

Moaning, Bodhi turned to face Galen again as the other man kicked the front door shut behind him. A moment later, they were kissing once more, approaching a meltdown that Luke and Han would’ve been proud of.

 

Galen had shoved his hands down the back of Bodhi’s shorts and jockeys— _Thank you for the inspiration, Han_ , Bodhi thought as hot, rough hands kneaded his ass—and Bodhi had one arm wrapped around Galen’s neck and the other jammed between them as he rubbed and squeezed Galen’s half-erect cock. They staggered and straggled their way down the hallway, to the empty, western-exposed living room, where they leaned against the north side of the archway into the room and across from the kitchen.

 

Thus supported, they began humping each other with mutual intensity, Galen nibbling Bodhi’s ear and neck, Bodhi’s head thrown back as he panted, and high gasps and whimpers escaped his parted lips.

 

“Holy God, I want you inside me fast and hard,” Bodhi exhaled on the back of a loud groan. Galen hummed and nipped at Bodhi’s Adam’s-apple, causing a soft, stuttered gasp to leap from Bodhi’s throat.

 

“And I wish nothing more than to _be inside you_ , fast and hard, _min lille Magpie_. Or slow and gentle . . . I could go either way, to be honest,” Galen added. “The choice is yours, this time.”

 

“Hmm . . . as much as I enjoy you reaming me like I’m five hundred pages of printer paper . . . this time, I actually _do_ want it slow and intense. Just like the first time.” Bodhi opened his eyes and found himself looking up into Galen’s intense ones. “I wanna feel the sweet, delicious _ache_ of you in me for the next _month_ at least, Galen Erso . . . something to remind me of you when. . . .”

 

Bodhi trailed off and Galen frowned. “Bodhi,” he began solemnly. “You do know that I won’t leave forever, right? That once the school year is over—maybe sooner than that—I’ll be back to Jedha? Or you can come to Olympia . . . whichever, I mean for us to be _together_ once our mutual responsibilities are out of the way. For the whole summer and . . . beyond, even. _Far_ beyond.”

 

Eyes widening, Bodhi finally blinked, tears rolling unbidden down his cheeks. “Galen, I—”

 

“Well, that’s _very_ romantic of you to say, Dads. Very sweet,” a woman’s voice said from behind Galen, and he and Bodhi started, then turned together, still in each other’s arms. Leaning against the arched entryway into the _kitchen_ , was a poker-faced Jyn Erso, arms crossed over her chest, wearing her usual at-home outfit of cut-off jeans and one of Cassian’s wife-beaters. Her hair was messy and her feet were bare, but her gaze on her father and best friend was deadly-serious . . . unlike that of the infernally amused, yet coldly satisfied and smugly familiar visage of the man sitting regally at the kitchen table a few paces behind her. Dr. Orson J. Krennic, PhD, was practically smirking, his eyes darting from Jyn’s tense back, to Bodhi’s shocked, fearful face, then Galen’s grim, angry one. He looked as enrapt and engaged as man watching particularly gripping reality television. “However, before you two get started on that, I have a few questions. . . .”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::gasp::
> 
> Come flail with me over at [Tumblr](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	14. Chrysalid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting.

**“A butterfly is a caterpillar who never gave up on his dream to fly.”** **  
―** **Matshona Dhliwayo**

 

After a moment that lasted far too long, Bodhi and Galen all but sprang apart, putting a few feet between them, neither looking at the other. Both adjusted and tugged down on their askew clothing, attempting to hide their inevitable reactions to the brief, but intense grope-and-make-out session.

 

Bodhi looked from his best friend, to his professor—the former’s face unreadable and pale, the latter’s smug and perfectly tanned—then, finally, to Galen. Those hazel-grey eyes were lowering and dark with understanding and anger. They were practically _glued_ to Professor Krennic.

 

“Jyn,” Bodhi began, deciding subconsciously to unravel this . . . craziness . . . by starting with the person whose presence mattered most and made the most sense in the context of Bodhi-Jyn-and-Cassian’s-apartment. “Wh-what’re you doing home?”

 

“I switched days with Siwadi, the other intern. He has to take his sister to an emergency dental appointment tomorrow,” Jyn said, shrugging and crossing her arms. “It was rather an amazing bit of providence that allowed me to be home when your professor rang the bell.”

 

“And what _are_ _you_ doing here at all, Orson?” Galen asked, his voice icy enough to go skating on and low with displeasure. But Professor Krennic didn’t seem to notice, bending a rather charming smile on his colleague, as if they were discussing their mutual love of engineering.

 

“Well, Galen, it’s the darnedest thing, really,” Krennic said wonderingly, but with hints of mockery in his voice as he stood gracefully, and slowly drew even with Jyn, in the entryway. But while Jyn’s eyes were ticking between her father and best friend, wide, but still unreadable, Krennic only had eyes for Galen. “After our little reunion at the UNMJ campus, I remembered you’d said your lovely daughter was engaged and about to be married. So, I thought, since I had some free time on my hands, I might offer my congratulations to the only child of one of my oldest friends in person. Unfortunately,” he went on, now with fake-chagrin and sadness. “I didn’t realize that your . . . _dalliance_ with young Mr. Rook was . . . on the down-low, as it were. When I made mention of it, and how happy you and my dear, young student seemed, sweet Jyn was quite . . . nonplussed. Gobsmacked, one might even say.”

 

Quivering on the inside, Bodhi bit his lip and looked down, away from Jyn. But not before he saw her eyes— _Galen’s eyes_ —narrow and flicker with that dark-grey anger as she glanced toward Krennic.

 

“That’s enough, Orson,” Galen said, his voice as icy as his eyes had been. Bodhi couldn’t seem to look up at him—or at anyone, anymore—to confirm that they were still as angry as they had been a minute ago. All he could do was stand utterly still, but for the quivering within, and wait for all the warmth and happiness to drain out of him completely, like air from a punctured balloon.

 

“Really, Galen,” Krennic went on as if Galen hadn’t spoken, clearly caught up in the sound of his own voice and the intricacies of his little game. “You should have _told_ her. Can you imagine how shocked and upset poor Jyn must feel, hearing about her father’s sexual improprieties with her young, male roommate, of all people? Tsk-tsk.”

 

“I said _that’s enough._ ”

 

“I quite agree,” Jyn concurred with brittle brightness that surprised Bodhi into glancing at her briefly. For the moment, he was being ignored in favor of Krennic by both Ersos. “I _don’t_ need you to speak for me, Professor Krennic. Unlike _your_ ethical compass _and_ sense of empathy, _my_ brain and mouth are working rather well, thank you, very much.”

 

Krennic’s smile didn’t so much fade as it _fled_ , to be instantly replaced by a rather witless, shocked gape. Jyn tilted her head curiously, sizing Krennic up as if finding him more than lacking . . . as if he was something she’d accidentally stepped in, and now couldn’t remove from the sole of her shoe to her satisfaction.

 

Then she was huffing and turning to Galen, her mask of inscrutability softening to reveal a stern, exasperated expression. “And _you_ . . . _and_ _you_ ,” she added, including Bodhi in her gaze. He quickly looked down again, shivering as he tried not to imagine a future devoid not only of Galen, but of _Jyn and Cassian_ , as well. And possibly even his B.S. in Engineering, since Krennic was probably going to fail his final project on G.P., alone. “Well, I _said_ I had some questions, and I suppose the most _pressing_ one is. . . .” Jyn recrossed her arms and angled her head trying to catch Bodhi’s eyes. When Bodhi wouldn’t let her, she snorted and turned back to Galen. “Why in the world—if you’re as bloody gone on each other as it’s obvious you _are_ , and probably _have been_ since the moment you met—are you two standing five yards apart like the other’s a leper, or something? You, Bodhi, went from climbing Dads like he’s a _tree_ , to cowering against the wall. And Dads— _you’re_ so busy trying to set Professor Tattle-Tale on fire with the strength of your glare that you haven’t even noticed that the man whose honor you’re _leaping_ to defend is practically ready to _faint_ from anxiety and upset!”

 

“ _What_?” Galen demanded then, in a softer tone, his concerned gaze as palpable as the sunlight shining into the living room. “Bodhi . . . little bird . . . are you okay?”

 

“Clearly, he’s _not_.” Jyn snorted again. “Really, Dads, you’re being terribly obtuse.”

 

“Jyn.” Galen’s tone was stern, now, and cautioning. Bodhi would have smirked, if he weren’t so anxious— _frightened_ —of the outcome of this little confabulation.

 

“Well, you _are_. It’s a good thing I inherited _Mum’s_ observational skills.” Jyn huffed once more. “As for _you_ , Professor Krennic, I only have _one_ pressing question for you. Or perhaps two. Why did you come here, _really_? _Was_ it to congratulate me on my upcoming nuptials, or was it to drop a supposed bombshell on me as retaliation against my father for some imagined slight?”

 

Silence from Krennic. And when Bodhi risked a glance up at the man, it was to see his mouth working uncertainly, his blue eyes gone round and startled . . . almost caught-out. “I—I—”

 

“Oh, come, now, don’t be _shy_ , Professor. I’m certain _you_ know, if anyone does, _why_ you showed up on my doorstep, grinning like a shark, words of congratulation on your lips, yet clearly all but bursting to blurt out your, ahem, _news_ : that my father and my best friend are . . . exploring the possibility of a future together.”

 

Krennic’s face composed itself so quickly, it was almost dizzying. He scoffed incredulously, regaining his voice at last. “ _Exploring the possibility of a future together_? Dear girl, in my day, we called it _screwing each other’s brains out_. Your father’s fucking a bit of fluff young enough to be your brother, and he’s been _keeping_ that interesting fact a _secret_ from you. So, _I’m_ not the one whose ethics should be called into question, you silly little twit.”

 

Despite the fact that they were still rather far apart, Bodhi could practically feel how tightly Galen was strung. Could feel the clench of fists and jaw, and the tension in broad shoulders. Could feel the strain being placed on unusually tenuous self-control.

 

“I’m only going to warn you once to watch what you say _to_ Jyn and _about_ Bodhi,” he growled, and Krennic chuckled meanly, but with great satisfaction.

 

“Or you’ll do _what_ , exactly? Punch me in the nose, like Arthur did at that _disgrace_ of a party he threw at the end of senior year?” Krennic was the one to snort, this time, giving Galen a sneering, haughty once-over. “Go right ahead, if you think it’ll make you the more upright, morally superior man, of the two of us. If you think it’ll make you the Galen Erso who’d once have been _nauseated_ by the sort of man who’d take advantage of a boy less than half his age.”

 

“I’m not a boy, Professor.”

 

Surprised, everyone looked at a heretofore silent Bodhi, who was still not meeting anyone’s eye, but whose quiet voice was firm and unwavering. “I’m . . . I’m _not_ a boy. I’m a _grown man_ . . . one who knows exactly what and who he wants. Galen _isn’t_ taking advantage of me. He loves me and _respects_ me. He proves that with every glance, every word, every action. And I love and respect _him_ , more than anyone I’ve ever known. Of course, I know that because of the age difference, people like you are gonna think what they _want_ , which is usually the _worst_. But Galen could’ve gotten _anyone_ he wanted, regardless of age, gender, or education level. Yet he chose _me_. Maybe it was an arbitrary whim or maybe it was a deliberate decision because, like I do with him, when he looks at me, he sees all the love and affection, the possibility and potential waiting in our shared future. Maybe he looks at me and sees a soft place to fall. Maybe my stupid, unfunny geek-jokes make him laugh a little bit harder than anyone else’s do. Or maybe he just likes my eyes. I dunno. Maybe it’s _none_ of these things.” Bodhi shrugged, spreading his hands as if to say: _What can ya do?_ “Whatever it is, though, what we feel for each other is _real_. The real-deal. And you may be the man who holds my future in his hands, but if you keep disparaging my lover and our relationship, Galen’ll have to form a line behind _me_ to punch you in the fucking nose.”

 

Silence also followed this statement. Bodhi, his brief, shining moment of unflinching bravery nearly past, all but squirmed with the eyes of everyone on him, in that shocked, dinning quiet. Then, with all the remains of that simple, unwavering courage driving him, he was looking up again—not at Krennic, who was gaping again, or at Galen, who was frowning thoughtfully at Bodhi—at Jyn, who was blinking at Bodhi as if seeing him for the first time.

 

“I _love_ your father, Jyn. _So_ very much. Even though it’s been less than a week and even though he’s . . . _way_ out of my league, I’ve lost my heart completely. And, I mean, I _tried_ not to, Jyn. Really, I did—you don’t know _how_ _hard_ I tried to not want and need Galen the way I do.” Blinking, himself, trying to keep back the tears that had gathered so suddenly and were clamoring to fall, he willed his best friend to understand that while trying to deny his feelings had _everything_ to do with _her_ . . . _feeling them_ in the first place had _not_. “But it’s too _big_. Too big to hide. Too big to _control_. And I . . . I don’t _wanna_ hide or control it. I wanna _feel_ it and roll around in it and _bask_ in it. Because I _understand_ , now, how you feel about Cassian, and why you two get so lost in each other. I understand all the stupid, sappy love-songs I used to make fun of. And even the idea of Valentine’s Day doesn’t seem as ridiculous and commercial as I know it really is.”

 

Jyn snorted out a giggle and Bodhi did, too, a second after. The two of them giggled together as they so often had, for a few moments, eyes meeting in their usual camaraderie and shared sense of humor. Then, when the giggles tapered off, Bodhi shrugged haplessly, still smiling, but nervously.

 

“I’ve got it _bad_ , Jyn. I wanna buy Galen pink Teddy bears and idiotic, heart-shaped cards that play horrible old standards when you open them. I wanna buy him so many Whitman Samplers, it sends him to the hospital in diabetic shock . . . and not just on February 14th, either. I want _all_ the silly, romantic stuff I used to turn my nose up at . . . _with Galen_. And I’m sorry,” Bodhi said, and Jyn’s brow furrowed just the way Galen’s tended to when he was confused or pondering something deeply. “I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you or betrayed you just by following my heart, but . . . I’m not used to my heart telling me anything _at all_ , let alone ignoring its advice. So, when it talks to me about Galen—when it feels so _deeply_ and powerfully for him—I can’t _not_ listen and obey. Because I’ve _never_ loved anyone like this and I doubt I ever will again.”

 

Turning away from Jyn’s surprised expression, Bodhi faced Galen who was watching him with a similar expression. It made him look barely older than Jyn. “I _love_ you, Professor. More than anything and anyone in this world. And no matter what happens after this, after tonight . . . I want you to know that. To know that you’ve changed and _enriched_ my life so much. And that I’ve never known in my life the kind of joy that I’ve known since I met you. That I’ve been happier in the past couple of days than I had been in all the days that came before them, combined.”

 

Galen’s eyes were brimming with emotion and his mouth was open as if he’d speak, but nothing came out for nearly a minute. Bodhi looked away again, at the hardwood floors that shone mellow and welcoming at his feet. Of course, looking down made the held-back tears fall and he sniffled as his nose began to run. “I, ah—I _know_ that maybe saying all this stuff is premature and maybe _immature_ and possibly unwanted, but—”

 

“Bodhi, my heart . . . my lovely, _sweet_ little magpie,” Galen interrupted suddenly, his voice rough and hoarse around what couldn’t _possibly_ be a laugh, only . . . it _was_. Bodhi was being laughed at as if he was an overwrought and over-eager child. Stung, he looked up at his lover with fresh tears in his eyes, to see a grinning, chuckling Galen stepping toward him, arms open. Bodhi stepped back, scowling and not wanting to be consoled and condescended to by the man he loved. Galen stopped his approach, forcing the big grin off his face and making his expression solemn; but it was still excited underneath. His eyes were shining and wide. “Bodhi, _min elskov_ , everything you said just now _exactly_ describes how _I_ feel for _you_. If _anything_ could be said to accurately describe something so singular and unparalleled. I _love you_ , too. So _very_ much. I don’t want to imagine even a _day_ without you—without seeing your smile and hearing your laugh and the scent of your skin—let alone an _entire life_ without everything that’s come to define _Bodhi_ to me.”

 

Bodhi’s mouth was the one to drop open, now—that seemed to be a communicable disease, in this apartment—and this time when Galen approached him, he didn’t back away. Galen reached out and took Bodhi’s right hand, then knelt gracefully, smoothly, in front of the younger man. His normally hazel-grey eyes were lambent-bronze and clear in the westering sunlight shining in through the living room windows.

 

Jyn gasped and Krennic swore under his breath, angry and disbelieving.

 

“Bodhi . . . _lille Magpie_ ,” Galen said, low and earnest. He raised Bodhi’s right hand, his thumb stroking across the Futhark-ring on Bodhi’s ring finger. His smile widened. “Do you still wish to know what the runes on this ring mean?”

 

Shocked nonverbal and wide-eyed, Bodhi merely nodded. Galen’s smile turned back into that big, boyish grin.

 

“It means: _Tænk på mig, jeg tænker på dig. Elsker mig, jeg elsker dig_. The English translation of which, is—”

                                                                                                                     

“‘Think of me, I think of thee. Love me, _I love_ _thee_ ,’” Jyn breathed softly, her own eyes growing wider and shinier. Galen glanced at her and nodded.

 

“Just so, Stardust.” Turning his gaze back to Bodhi, who was still gaping and wide-eyed and numb. “Think of me, Bodhi. I think of _thee_. _Love_ me, Bodhi. I love _thee_.”

 

“But—but—” Bodhi stammered, more tears rolling down his face as Galen looked down at his hand and gently slipped the Viking ring off Bodhi’s finger. A tiny sob escaped Bodhi and he yanked his right hand free of Galen’s to cover his mouth in dismay.

 

Galen looked up at him, still grinning, and spoke again as, this time, he took Bodhi’s _left_ hand in his right, while his own left held the ring between his thumb and first two fingers. “I _do_ love thee, Bodhi Ahmed Rook. With my whole heart. I can only imagine that, in time, I’ll love you _more_ , not less. Will _want_ you more, not less. And perhaps I don’t know you as _well_ as you deserve or as well as I _hope_ _to_ , someday, but I know enough to know that I don’t _ever_ want to do without you. And it’s in that knowledge, that spirit—that want and _need_ and love—that I couldn’t be more happy and excited to ask you a fairly important question. I’m certain an intelligent young man like yourself can guess what that question is. . . .”

 

“Oh, Galen, _really_?” Krennic scoffed disgustedly, but no one paid him any mind. Jyn was still a silent, curious presence to their right and Bodhi . . . Bodhi’s eyes were saucers in his face, his mind a white noise, static fuzz of: _NO WAY!_

 

Raising Bodhi’s left hand to his lips, Galen kissed his knuckles, lingering with warm, soft lips, his eyes shut and his pale lids fluttering. “Will you _marry_ me, Bodhi Rook?” Those bright, intent eyes opened and locked onto Bodhi’s, holding them in an intense, hopeful gaze. “Will you do me the _honor_ of becoming my husband?”

 

Wordlessly, Bodhi, hand still covering his mouth, shook his head as tears ran down his cheeks. “Oh!” he said, muffled and small. “Oh . . . oh, Galen!”

 

“Ah. So, ah.” Galen’s smile faltered a bit as Bodhi continued shaking his head—whether in disbelief or answer, even _Bodhi_ didn’t know—for a few moments. “Is that a _no_ , pretty bird?”

 

Closing his eyes on more traitor-tears, Bodhi laughed, waterlogged and shaky. “I told you once before and I meant it, Galen, that my answer to you will _always_ be _yes_. I _meant_ that. But . . . are you _sure_?” Opening his own eyes to search Galen’s, Bodhi sighed. “You have a life in Washington, and—and Jyn—”

 

Both men glanced over at Jyn, who was watching them with wide, shocked eyes, both hands covering the lower half of her face.

 

“Well? Don’t look at _me_! _I_ can’t decide for either of you!” She snorted. “But whatever you _do_ decide, I’ll do my best to support you. _Both_ of you.”

 

Then she removed her hands, revealing a big, bright grin.

 

 _Galen’s_ grin.

 

Bodhi turned back to Galen to find the older man staring up at him patiently, still hopefully.

 

“Galen, baby, what about Washington? Your life is there and your friends, and—”

 

“And all those things mean nothing without someone I love to share them with,” Galen murmured, his eyes intent on Bodhi’s, shining with earnestness and sincerity. With _love_. “I want you to be not just a _part_ of my life, but to _be_ my life. I want you to be my center. My _raison d’etre_. I think . . . I think you already _are_.”

 

Bodhi could only blink down at his lover—his would-be fiancé—and blink away the hot, irritating tears spilling from his no doubt swollen and red eyes. “Y’know, if you’d just _said that_ at the _airport_ , you’d have gotten in my pants _so much_ faster than you already did,” he informed Galen in a muffled, but no-less wise-ass voice. Galen smirked and cleared his throat, a flush coming to his pale cheeks.

 

“ _Marry_ me, Little Magpie. Be mine forever.”

 

This time, Bodhi nodded, removing his own hand from his face to reveal a smile that was tremulous and small, but genuine.

 

“Yeah. _Yes_ , Galen. If you’ll have me, I’ll marry you. I’ll be yours forever _and_ a day, if you want.” Bodhi’s voice was quaking and thick, all traces of wise-assery having fled. Galen’s grin, improbably, widened.

 

“Oh,” he said, his eyes dropping to Bodhi’s hand as he held up the ring—which flashed in the sunlight—then slipped it slowly, gravely on Bodhi’s left ring finger, with reverence and a possessive sort of glee. When the cool, sterling circle was settled around Bodhi’s finger, Galen looked up again, his face still flushed and eyes glowing brighter than ever. “I _want_. I’ll _always_ want, Bodhi. Always.”

 

Sniffling and clasping Galen’s hand tight, Bodhi tugged on it until Galen got the idea and stood once more, pulling Bodhi into his arms and embracing him so tight, Bodhi could barely breathe.

 

 _But then, oxygen’s overrated, anyway_ , he thought giddily, holding on to Galen just as tight. Then, with mutual urgency, they were leaning back just enough to kiss each other, long, deep, and sweet.

 

“Oh!” Jyn exclaimed, sounding more than a bit teary and surprised, herself. She clapped her hands in quiet applause. “Oh, _my_ , how _wonderful_!”

 

Galen’s bestartlement communicated itself quite clearly through their kiss, and was easily a match for Bodhi’s. So, they bussed their way out of the kiss, foreheads leaned together for nearly a minute, before looking over at Jyn.

 

“You . . . _don’t_ disapprove?” Galen asked hesitantly, clutching Bodhi close as if he feared Jyn’s possible negative reply might steal Bodhi from his arms. For his part, Bodhi, too, held on tight, burying his face in Galen’s neck, inhaling that astringent aftershave and masculine musk-scent that so tempted him and comforted him in equal measures.

 

“Oh, _Dads_ , of _course_ not!” Jyn said in that same teary voice, sniffling, herself. “I mean, I’m quite surprised that what I had _assumed_ —since Tuesday night at the _Cantina_ , when the two of you came back from _getting some air together_ , as Cassian claimed—was a fun fling for two lonely people, turned out to be a bloody love connection! _Very_ surprised, but not remotely _disapproving!_ Did you really think that, once I processed the idea, I _would_ _be_?”

 

Galen sighed heavily. “I . . . I didn’t know _what_ to think. After all, you were very young when we lost your mother, and . . . the loss of a parent is about the worst thing a child can experience. So, I didn’t know how you might take seeing me with someone who _isn’t_ your mother . . . even all these years later. Let alone someone who’s so young and your best friend, to boot.” Kissing Bodhi’s temple, Galen sighed again. “I had _hoped_ that if, and when, the time came to tell you . . . that if, and when, Bodhi and I found that what we had was something that _warranted_ telling . . . you would keep an open mind and heart.”

 

Turning his head where it rested on Galen’s shoulder, Bodhi snuck a peek at Jyn. She was smiling and yes, teary-eyed. “Of course, I would, Daddy! _All_ I’ve wanted since Mum died was to see you _happy_ again, and not lonely. The fact that you’ve finally found that and with someone I already know, love, and _trust_ , makes it even better! This is _far_ more than I’d hoped for when I put two and two together on Tuesday night!”

 

“So . . . you really _knew already?_ ” Bodhi asked reluctantly. Jyn’s smile turned wry and she met Bodhi’s gaze with mild exasperation.

 

“You two were so damned _obvious_ —from the moment Dads got in Death-Star and kept sneaking glances at you like you were a glass of water and he was fresh from wandering the desert.” Snorting yet again, Jyn crossed her arms once more, too. “It was clear enough that you two were dancing around each other like lovesick teenagers, and that poor Cassian had somehow been dragged into the whole mess and sworn to silence!”

 

“ _I_ begged him not to tell you. He was going to,” Bodhi added quickly, guiltily. “But I asked him to give Galen and I time to figure out what we were to each other, before we ran to you and maybe _hurt_ you terribly, over a fling that then fizzled out after a few days.” Laughing, short, hard, and sharp, Bodhi made himself small in Galen’s strong arms and closed his eyes. “I don’t think fizzling out’ll be happening anytime soon.”

 

“Neither do I, _min lille fugl_ ,” Galen murmured in Bodhi’s hair, kissing his crown tenderly. “Neither do I.”

 

“I love you, Professor.”

 

“And I love _you_ , my Magpie.”

 

And for a little while, there was only the safe-haven of Galen’s arms, the scent that’d come to mean rightness and _home_ to Bodhi, and Jyn’s touched, gentle cooing.

 

Then, Krennic huffed. “Well! Isn’t _this_ all sweet and heart-warming!” he exclaimed with a pleasantness that was so purposely fake, it was worse than the honesty of stark disapproval. But before Galen could reply, as he’d drawn breath to do, and before Bodhi could even look up, Jyn was speaking, her voice calm and cold—The Cross-Examination Voice, she called it.

 

“I should’ve thrown you out on your arse the moment I realized you were here for no other reason than to attempt to ruin my father’s and my best friend’s relationship and lives. Not to mention _my_ opinion of them,” she said, stepping between Krennic, and Galen and Bodhi. Her back was ramrod-straight, her arms crossed once more. “But then, you seem like the type who’s _always_ thought he had more power than he actually did. So, let me be the latest to disabuse you of that notion, Mr. Krennic: _You_ don’t have the power to drive a wedge between me and my father, or me and my best friend. And you _don’t_ have the power to drive one between my father and his fiancé, either. As far as we’re _all_ concerned, you have no power, whatsoever. No power, no import, and no say in our lives.”

 

“Is that so?” Krennic asked, and Bodhi, used to the man’s ways, could hear the faint sneer in his smooth, even tone. “Ms. Erso, you, your father, and his . . . paramour, seem to be forgetting that I _do_ have quite a bit of power over at least _one_ of you.” Leaning a bit to the right to make eye-contact with Bodhi, Krennic was smiling his usual amused, disdainful smile. “I will not only see to it that you don’t get into a grad school worth attending after graduating from UNMJ this year—assuming I _let_ _you_ graduate—but I will see to it that you _never_ achieve your PhD. at all. Or, failing that, I’ll make certain you _never_ hold a job that commands any respect nor offers any chance of advancement beyond being assistant shift-manager at _Argle-Bargle Burger_.”

 

Bodhi blinked again, his heart skipping several beats in his chest—for a few seconds, his entire life seemed constrict around him, and to spin and whirl as if it was circling the drain at an exponential rate of acceleration—until there was a sudden and deeply-seated _shift_ , as of tectonic plates grinding out of an old, stagnant arrangement, and slotting neatly into a new and _better_ one. An _exciting_ one.

 

It was an entire paradigm shift in the space of five, missed breaths, and Bodhi Rook . . . began to _smile_. “Really, _Orson_? _Argle-Bargle Burger_? Is that the _best_ ya got?”

 

“As threats go, it _is_ pretty lame,” Jyn opined nonchalantly, turning her head slightly toward the couple standing behind her. “And easily remedied with a lawsuit that I’m certain Mr. Krennic wouldn’t want to endure the publicity of. However, I must admit that _Argle-Bargle Burger_ is a bit down-scale, even for a chain eatery. And they use _far_ too many pickles in their Bargle-Meal sandwiches. Plus their shakes are too thick.”

 

“Wrong, times two, Jyn-ger Beer. No such thing as too many pickles and too thick of a shake.” Bodhi laughed again, genuinely amused, this time. He could all but hear Jyn roll her eyes.

 

“Stop _calling_ me that! I’m not a micro-brewery, you!”

 

“Depends on the night, I’d say.”

 

“. . . shut up, Bodhi. . . .” Jyn’s blush was bright enough to _hear_ and she cleared her throat.

 

Snickering, Bodhi squeezed Galen and sighed once more, this time happily. He met Krennic’s once again unhappy gaze and grinned. “Sorry, Prof. But I kinda don’t give two slippery shits whether you throw your weight around to keep me back, or not. You _may_ knock me _down_ , but you won’t _keep_ me there—not for long, anyway. Because when all’s said and done, _I’ve won_. And all _you’ve_ been doing your whole life is _losing_ : ideas, projects, jobs, professorships, _the_ _guy_.” Bodhi quirked a knowing eyebrow, and Krennic actually _flushed_ and looked away, his eyes skittering past Galen as he did so.

 

 _I wonder if Galen even knows this man’s been in love with him for the better part of thirty years. Maybe longer_ , Bodhi thought . . . then decided that perhaps it was best if he didn’t bring the subject up at all. Even if only to spare a man—a broken, lost, lonely, hopelessly _infatuated_ man, who’d stoop to any nadirs to ruin the _one_ thing he wanted but would _never_ get—who clearly didn’t deserve it.

 

 _Whatever_ , Bodhi told himself with pleased finality. _It’s time for Orson Krennic to go kick rocks. I don’t care_ where _, just as long as it’s not_ here.

 

Bodhi was about to look up at Galen and ask him to put Krennic out by force, if necessary, when Krennic spoke again.

 

“Oh, Galen, do be _sensible_ , for once in your life!” he blurted out, his eyes flickering between anger and despair as he stared at Galen and Bodhi. “You’re thinking with your _prick_ instead of your _brain_ , which seems to be a pattern for you, doesn’t it?”

 

“I’m warning you, Orson,” Galen gritted out quietly. “Stop, _now_. _Do_ _not_ take this where I think you’re _going_ to take it. For all our sakes.”

 

“I will _not_ stop!” Krennic declared, haughty once more, and beyond all attempts at discretion. “ _None_ of your friends—not even your precious Arthur and Charles—had the _guts_ then, and probably wouldn’t, _now_ , to tell you what a hash you’re making of your life, throwing away the second half of it the way you did the first!”

 

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Krennic?” Jyn asked in a stiff, angry voice. Krennic turned his sneering, contemptuous gaze on her.

 

“Can’t you guess?” He shook his head almost pityingly. “Your father is the sort who makes the same mistakes, over and over. His little _affair de coeur_ with your roommate is just another instance of a man—whose blood is bluer than your collar, Mr. Rook—taking up with some pretty piece of hoi polloi trash, not worth the skin he’s been printed in. And that _is_ all Mr. Rook is, Ms. Erso, like your mother, before him: an example of a noble, old family’s last scion rebelling against the class and responsibility he was _born to_.”

 

When no one said anything in reply to this—because they were all, indeed, too stunned to find the words—Krennic went on, encouraged by the lack of vocal censure, his gaze ticking to Bodhi’s again. “How does it _feel_ to know that’s all you are, Mr. Rook? Just another symbol of a man’s rejection of himself and his family? Something pretty and receptive and submissive to take his cock whenever he feels an itch, who’ll make all the right noises at all the right moments to satisfy his fragile ego? A living, breathing, working-class trophy that he can show-off at parties and rub in everyone’s faces, just like he did with that sanctimonious little bitch whose place you’re holding? Hmm? How—”

 

But Krennic didn’t get to finish his rhetorical ranting, for Bodhi had pulled free of a stunned Galen’s arms and shoved Jyn out of the way.

 

He would never recall the next moments after Jyn’s startled squawk, only that one second he was glaring into Krennic’s wide, surprised eyes and the next, he was staring down at the unconscious man’s limp form, lying half in the kitchen and half in the hallway.

 

Bodhi heard a loud, bellows-sound in the charged silence that followed and realized, almost immediately that it was his own breathing—his own _panting_. That his hands were clenched into fists, and the right fist rather ached.

 

He couldn’t stop staring at Krennic’s prone form, somehow small-looking, and utterly vulnerable, as well. Especially with that thin trickle of blood droozling out of his now-left-canting nose.

 

Jyn, standing off to the side where Bodhi had shoved her, looked from Bodhi to Krennic with saucer-like eyes. “Bodhi,” she started to say, then fell silent, for once at a loss for words.

 

“He shouldn’t’ve said that about your Mom,” Bodhi ground out through clenched teeth, barely audible to himself over the pounding of his elevated pulse in his ears.

 

“Or about _you_ ,” Jyn added quietly, worriedly, her gaze moving past Bodhi, to Galen, who stepped forward and put a tentative hand on Bodhi’s shoulder.

 

“Magpie,” he murmured with equal concern, not pressing the issue when Bodhi shuddered away from the touch. His skin was crawling with rage and violent energy . . . the need to strike out and _keep_ striking out. Even _Galen’s_ touch couldn’t soothe that. And might, Bodhi feared, make it worse.

 

“I gotta,” Bodhi said, and had no way to finish the statement. So, he repeated himself. “I gotta.”

 

“Sweetheart—”

 

“Bodhi—”

 

He shook his head once. “I can’t, I . . . I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning away from Jyn and Krennic’s figure, but stopping before he was facing Galen. In fact, the _front door_ was what he was facing, not fifteen feet away. . . .

 

It wasn’t even thought that propelled Bodhi to the door, whereupon he flung it open and dashed through—down the hallway and stairwell, and out into the late afternoon heat—but instinct. The instinct of a trapped animal needing to make any escape available by any means necessary.

 

Pounding down the walk, he felt for his keys and finally stopped, panting once more, in front of Rogue.

 

He took a deep breath and, in seven seconds, was in his VW Bus and starting her up. She purred to life and Bodhi leaned back in the driver’s seat, absently buckling his seatbelt as he rolled down the window and leaned his left elbow on it.

 

And there, eyes already watering from more than the bright, yellow-gold afternoon sun, he buried his face in his hands. In the soothing semi-dark of his dry palms, he let the first, hitching precursors of a full-on crying jag shake and take his body, until at last, he was sobbing silently, as if his heart hadn’t merely been broken, but _shattered_ . . . and ground into a coarse powder.

 

But tears and trebled vision—a decimated heart—weren’t enough to keep Bodhi’s hands and body from doing what they knew so well. He jammed on the brake, threw Rogue into gear, and tipped down his shades over his reddened, aching eyes.

 

As Jyn and Galen stepped out of the building E less than ten seconds later, Bodhi was zooming past them and the building, on his way out of Vista Verde Estates. Galen called his name, hand raised as if to flag Bodhi down as he drove by. But Jyn merely watched him go with a thoughtful expression.

 

#

 

Once on the main road through the sprawling apartment complex, which led back out of the semi-‘burbs of where the Estates was located, he headed east, toward the city center.

 

Sniffling and wiping at his face as he drove, Bodhi blinked furiously to keep his vision relatively clear so he could see where he was going. Not that he even knew where that _was_ until he suddenly drove into another apartment and condo complex—one a bit more upscale than the Estates.

 

 **Welcome to Arroyo Run Village!** read a sign Bodhi blew past, squinting from the light as he passed it, looking for yet another E-building.

 

When he found it, he quickly pulled into the providentially available spot right in front of the main entrance. By the time he marched up to the door and its security-locked handle, with its adjacent panel of buzzers, Bodhi’s face was dry, but his eyes were practically crimson. He shoved his glasses up and squinched his eyes half-shut to read the names on the faded, sun-splashed panel. Running his finger under the names and mouthing them to himself, he passed an F. Ko; a G. Ackbar; an S. Bey . . . then K. Tousseau . . . and a few names on from that. . . .

 

Bodhi didn’t hesitate to ring that buzzer.

 

It was nearly a minute before a tinny, annoyed—but familiar—voice came through the dusty speaker.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It’s . . . it’s me. Um. It’s Bodhi.” And there, Bodhi paused, having no idea what to say or why he was there, only that this was where his instinct and Rogue had brought him. “I . . . can I come up—”

 

The door buzzed, and Bodhi grabbed the handle and let himself into cool, dim relief.

 

#

 

When he stepped out of the stairwell on the third floor, and into the wide hallway, it was to see a smallish blond man waiting at the other end. He was barefoot, wearing tan skinny jeans and a Forty-Niners jersey that was _way_ too big and long, and standing on 3E’s welcome mat, smiling and bright-eyed.

 

“Hey, Bodhi!” Luke Skywalker enthused, meeting a skulking Bodhi halfway down the hall. His face was flushed, his hair mussed, and his neck covered in hickeys. But his welcoming smile was genuine, though it faded as he got a better look at Bodhi’s face. “Jesus, are you okay?”

 

“Yes. No. Not really. One of those?” Bodhi shrugged and stopped just outside of Luke’s personal bubble, hand held out for shaking. “I punched out the head of the engineering department and I think my boyfriend’s still in love with his late wife. And the only reason he’s with me is because he’s lonely and I remind him of her in some weird way. Oh, and I’m _pretty_ sure that I not only _don’t_ want to be an engineer, anymore, but that I never really _did_. It was only _adjacent_ to what I _really_ wanted to do, ya know?”

 

Luke pulled a very worried face, glanced down at Bodhi’s outstretched hand, then made a rude noise, opening his arms and pulling Bodhi into a big, tight hug—Bodhi towered over him by about six inches—that smelled like sandalwood and the desert.

 

“That, uh . . . that’s a full afternoon you’ve had,” Luke noted. “Not for the faint of heart.”

 

“Yeah,” Bodhi mumbled into Luke’s shoulder, sniffling and sighing morosely. As comforting as that sandalwood-and-desert-scent hug was, it was _wrong_ . . . because it _wasn’t_ _Galen’s_. “I lost my mind, my man, and my major all in one fell swoop. And now, I have _no_ fucking clue what I’m gonna do with myself.”

 

“Well,” Luke murmured, running a soothing hand up and down Bodhi’s back. “What’ve you always _wanted_ to do with yourself, Bodhi? What’s the biggest dream that you gave up on pursuing, but never stopped having? Firefighter? Indian chief? Hedge-fund manager? Roadie for the Tragically Hip?”

 

“No, none of _those_.” Bodhi laughed and Luke laughed with him.

 

“Well, then . . . _what_?”

 

“Deep down?” Off Luke’s nod, Bodhi groaned a little, tears springing to his sore eyes once more as he realized how thoroughly he’d fucked himself over since . . . _ever_. “I’m a _pilot_ , Luke,” he said with little hesitation or thought. But then, the truth rarely needed either to be told to a concerned and caring ear. “I was _born_ to _fly_. . . .”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're for it, now. Nearing the end of this story, but not of this 'verse. The next planned fics are Han and Luke's tale, and Leia's tale. And more Bodhi and Galen, if you guys want it. Anything else you wanna see, just lemme know :-)
> 
> And come say "Hi!" on [The Tumbles](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	15. Imago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting.

**“If you never dream of flying, then you'll never wake up with wings.”** **  
―** **Natalie Kendall**

 

“Fuck, but I’ve never seen someone look so lost and alone.”

 

Luke leaned into Han and nodded his agreement, watching their guest, one Bodhi Rook, stand out on the apartment’s terrace, leaning on the railing, staring into the sun.

 

 _Which can’t be good for his eyes, even with those night-black sunglasses he’s wearing_ , Luke thought, worried for their new friend. . . .

 

“Think he’s gonna try to jump?”

 

“ _Han!_ ” Luke punched his boyfriend in the bicep hard, causing the other man to flinch and grimace apologetically.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered. Then just _had_ to follow that apology up with: “Eh, three stories up, he’d only break both his legs. Maybe his coccyx— _ow_! Hey! Watch it, Karate Kid!”

 

“Well, it’s what you deserve!” Luke said hotly, but then went on to ruin his second, righteous punch by rubbing Han’s bicep irritably, but soothingly, until the other man was grinning his stupid, charming, and stupidly charming grin. When he pulled Luke into his arms, Luke went, grumbling, but without hesitation. “Don’t go begging or borrowing trouble on Bodhi’s behalf, nerfherder.”

 

“Ah, c’mon, farmboy,” Han murmured into Luke’s hair, inhaling as he did so—it was sort of disarming to Luke that Han so loved the smell of his hair that whenever it was within sniffing-reach, the taller man made a point of burying his face in it. Just like he was, now. “How can such a big-brained prodigy like you be so _superstitious_?”

 

“Because I was raised just as religious and god-fearing as _any_ good Catholic boy. Aunt Beru taught Sunday school, y’know? And there was no skipping out on it _ever_ , since she’d notice if her only nephew wasn’t there, too.”

 

“Mandatory Sunday school, huh?” Han’s hands drifted over and down from Luke’s waist, to his ass, where they kneaded and squeezed, squeezed and kneaded. “Is that what my sweetheart’s such a dirty, cock-hungry little freak in the bedroom? Or the van. Or remember the laundry room? How’s _that_ for a wild first time?”

 

His face burning, Luke hid it in Han’s chest. _Of course_ , he remembered. How could he forget something so . . . unforgettable? Especially when it’d happened only _two days ago_? “Shut up about it, or that’ll be the _last_ you see of my dirty, freaky, cock-hungry side, Mr. Solo.”

 

Silence from Han. Then: “Okay, so, what’re we gonna do about Bodhi?” the other man asked, his hands sliding back to their previous, PG positions. “I mean, I like the kid, but staying here, haunting the terrace, letting the sun melt his eyes isn’t doing him any good. Even if it _was_ , he can’t stay here _forever_. Chewie’d probably have a fit.”

 

“Does Bodhi get high?”

 

“Um . . . yeah. I know for a fact that he does,” Han answered, sounding chagrined and a bit uncomfortable. (It didn’t take a mind-reader with spooky, telekinetic powers to know that something of the . . . Rated R or possibly even NC-17 variety had probably happened between Han and Bodhi, once upon a time. But Luke had no intentions of prying or pressing the issue. Whatever had happened between them had been before _he and Han_ had become a couple and was, therefore, none of Luke’s business. In fact, if he could somehow forget that Han and Leia had been a thing for the better part of five years . . . that would’ve been dandy, too.

 

Not that Luke would trade-in his only nephew, Benny, for the _world_.)

 

Snorting, Luke leaned back in Han’s arms to look up into his face. “In that case, I’d say he and Chewie’ll get along _fine_ if Bodhi needs to spend a couple days on the couch.”

 

Han winced and sighed. “You think it’s that bad between him and Erso?”

 

Luke blinked up at his boyfriend incredulously. “Whether it _actually_ is or not, _Bodhi_ clearly thinks it is. He’s heart-broken!”

 

Frowning, Han looked out the plate-glass door that lead onto the terrace. Bodhi was still staring into the sunset. Or at least into the sky. His head was hanging, slightly, his coat-hanger shoulders slumped defeatedly.

 

He looked unhappy and lost, but not necessarily _heart-broken._ And Han said as much, to Luke’s scoffing dismissal.

 

“Trust me, Han. He’s torn-up about this like you wouldn’t _believe_.”

 

“How can you even _tell_?”

 

Luke’s brows quirked up under his shaggy, blond fringe. “Was I the only one present when he recounted what happened after Galen’s daughter and that weasel Krennic confronted them about their relationship? Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph, Han, Krennic flat-out _told_ _Bodhi_ he was nothing but a placeholder for his lover’s dead wife! That’d tear _anyone_ up!”

 

“Well . . . _yeah_ , but you think Bodhi really _believes_ anything a jerkwad asshole, like this Krennic-guy, says?”

 

Sighing, Luke shook his head and looked out the terrace door again. Now, Bodhi was staring after a darting and wheeling flock of dark birds off in the distance. Some kind of blackbirds, or crows, probably.

 

“I think,” Luke said slowly, “that Krennic somehow knew exactly what sort of blow would be the most devastating to Bodhi, once he realized threatening his career wouldn’t work. I think he bet on the strength of Bodhi’s insecurities, and fear of turning into a substitute for the person Galen _really_ wanted. And that bet paid off.” Meeting Han’s worried gaze again, Luke smiled wanly. “Trust me, babe, I know a little something about that. About wanting someone so badly yet not wanting to be a substitute or placeholder for the person they _truly_ want. About loving them enough to give them whatever they need, even if that something isn’t _you_ . . . I know a little something about heart-break, Han.”

 

Han winced and reached up to brush feather-light fingers along Luke’s cheek.

 

“Baby,” he murmured, and: “I’m so sorry.”

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Han.” Luke’s smile was bright, but rather shaky. “I was young and scared, and didn’t know—or couldn’t admit to what I wanted. And, as a result, you found someone who _did_ know what they wanted, and that that something was _you_. Only you. That she turned out to be my long-lost twin sister was just the universe’s idea of a practical joke,” he added, laughing not a little ruefully. “Anyway, we’re both on the same page, at last, after going-on six years of back and forth, and being with other people.”

 

“Other people. Right. I _still_ can’t believe you dated that weird Air Force guy for, like, _two years_ ,” Han grumbled, scowling. Luke dimpled up at him.

 

“Wedge was good man, and you know it.”

 

Han snorted sarcastically. “Do I, Luke?”

 

“Yes, you _do_. You liked him just fine before he and I started sleeping together. And Leia _still_ likes him.”

 

Han huffed. “Yeah, well. She’s got notoriously _horrible_ taste in men.”

 

“It’s a genetic thing we have in common, apparently.”

 

“Ha-ha.”

 

“Don’t roll your eyes at _me_ , Mr. Solo.” Luke poked Han in the chest. “We agreed to leave our past in the past, as much as we can. And Wedge and Leia are _definitely_ the past. At _present_ , we have a friend with a broken heart, a wrecked life, and no clue what to do about either. But _we_ have to do _something_! _Help_ them! We _can’t_ just let Bodhi and Galen suffer over Krennic’s bullshit!”

 

“But, babe . . . what can _you and I_ do?”

 

“I—I dunno! But _something_!” Luke groaned, shaking his head. “There has to be _some_ way to straighten this mess out—get Bodhi and Galen to _talk_!”

 

“Yeah,” Han said, sighing as he glanced back out at Bodhi for a few moments . . . then he was looking down at Luke again, a determined smirk beginning to curve his mouth. “Well, since Mohammed won’t go to the mountain. . . .”

 

Frowning, Luke glanced up at Han curiously, suspiciously. “What’re you getting at?”

 

“The simplest solution to a simple problem . . . that’s what,” Han said smugly, then went on before Luke could gainsay him about the simplicity of the problem or the solution. “Say, kiddo, got your phone on ya?”

 

Luke blinked at the non-sequitur. “Yep. Right hip pocket, why?”

 

Han instantly went for that pocket of Luke’s skin-tight skinny jeans and removed the phone—not without an inordinate amount of teasing and pocket-pool—then held it up like a prize, waggling it. “‘Cause it’s time and past to reach out and touch someone.”

 

#

 

_“You’ve reached the voicemail of Miranda Rook. Please leave a message and I’ll return it as soon as I can. Have a nice day.”_

 

_BEEP!_

 

“Hi, Miranda, uh . . . it’s me. Bodhi. Bodhi _Rook_. Your, uh . . . your son. . . .”

 

Here, Bodhi trailed off. No matter how well he planned his messages in advance, once the beep sounded, his mind blanked, leaving him struggling to express whatever had necessitated the call in the first place.

 

And he’d known, from long experience, that calling Miranda’s personal phone before six-thirty p.m. on a week-day would only result in getting voicemail—he sure as hell wasn’t going to call her at _work_ just because his personal and professional lives had met and, like matter and antimatter, wiped each other out in a terrific explosion. But part of Bodhi, a part that would always be that four through six years old in the state home, who no one had wanted . . . had wanted to hear her voice. The orphan-child who’d eventually be lucky enough to have visits from a short, stocky, wind-burned, straw-haired lady—who always brought him small puzzles and Lego expansion sets—to look forward to . . . wanted nothing more than to hear her voice. And never mind that he’d never had the heart to tell her those gifts had often been destroyed or taken by the other boys if Bodhi hadn't been able to hide them quickly enough.

 

But even now, seventeen years later—fifteen years after he’d been formally adopted—sometimes, _all_ Bodhi wanted was to hear her voice.

 

To hear his _mother’s_ _voice_.

 

Slouching back in one of the two lounge chairs on the terrace, which also boasted a small wrought-iron table covered in mostly empty ashtrays and a battered ice chest with neither ice nor beer in it, Bodhi sighed, putting the phone on speaker and closing his irritated eyes on the orange-red, westering sunlight. Even with his shades on it was getting to be kind of unbearable, after nearly an hour spent staring into it as a distraction . . . and maybe even as punishment.

 

Though for what, Bodhi couldn’t have said.

 

“Um. I just, uh . . . I know I haven’t called since last Sunday, and I, uh, just wanted to touch base with you. Maybe talk to you later, y’know, if you’re not too busy? You can call me anytime, uh . . . I’ll probably be up till late, so . . . yeah. Anyway, I just wanted to maybe talk about some stuff that’s, um, been going on in my life lately. Stuff I need advice on. And no one gives better advice than you. So, yep, just, uh, call me back when you can. And if you can’t, maybe I’ll make the drive to Santa Fe this weekend and stay a spell. Okay. Love ya, Mom. Later.”

 

It wasn’t until Bodhi had ended the call and put his phone away, that he realized he’d called Miranda “mom.” It was a title she’d never insisted on having and thus Bodhi had never pressed the issue. Even now, having known and loved Miranda for over a decade longer than he’d known and loved his bio-mother, the idea of calling someone else, even _Miranda Rook_ , “mother,” struck him as being awkward, bordering on wrong. It was a feeling that had both faded and dulled over time, so that Bodhi, who’d always felt comfortable calling Miranda by name, frequently slipped and called her “mom.” Usually when he was happy or excited.

 

Or vulnerable and depressed.

 

Now, staring down at the chlorine-blue pool behind the E-building of _Arroyo Run Village_ —further squared in by the C-, D-, and F-buildings—Bodhi sighed and leaned forward once more, taking off and pocketing his shades, and putting elbows on knees. First, he leaned on his palms. Then he buried his face in them.

 

He could still _hear_ Krennic’s smooth, insinuating voice as if the man was standing at his shoulder, murmuring his awful, cruel . . . probably-true statements. . . .

 

_“How does it feel to know that’s all you are, Mr. Rook? Just another symbol of a man’s rejection of himself and his family? Something pretty and receptive and submissive to take his cock whenever he feels an itch, who’ll make all the right noises at all the right moments to satisfy his fragile ego? A living, breathing, working-class trophy that he can show-off at parties and rub in everyone’s faces, just like he did with that sanctimonious little bitch whose place you’re holding? Hmm?”_

 

Well, it hadn’t felt _good_ , Bodhi could admit to his internalized Orson Krennic. _Had_ to admit every time his swollen, reddened, still-aching knuckles gave a throbbing twinge . . . which they _frequently_ did, even two hours after breaking Krennic’s aristocratic nose.

 

Chuckling miserably, Bodhi sighed. _Who’d’ve thought that asshole had such a hard nose to match that hard heart of his?_

 

But think what he would about Krennic—and Bodhi could and _did_ —there was no ignoring the probability of the man being right. What he’d said had been cruel and dickish . . . but that didn’t make it untrue. In fact, given the common correlation of _the truth_ and _hurts, doesn’t it?_ , it was quite likely that Krennic had been spot-on about the reason for Galen’s . . . attraction and growing attachment to him.

 

What were the odds, after all, that a man as wonderful as Galen—handsome, funny, blindingly intelligent, _sinfully_ sexy, and so very unexpectedly _adorable_ —would fall for a desert-rat like Bodhi? Some damn _kid_ from freaking _New Mexico_ , who’d only ever been one other place in his whole life (and no one gave six shits about having been to Scottsdale)? A goddamned _orphan_ with _no_ past worth telling or remembering and, also, little prospect of a _future_ that would be either of those things?

 

Who’d want a failed engineering student who’d _only_ chosen engineering because the Air Force hadn’t wanted someone with eyes so sensitive, a sudden, intense glare of light could knock him briefly unconscious? Who, after a debilitating, year-long depression stemming from that rejection, had finally slunk, hat in hand, to the nearest state college with a decent engineering program, because if he couldn’t be _Bodhi Rook the pilot_ , then he would damn-well settle for being _Bodhi Rook the engineer_ , like his _mother_ before him.

 

And when he’d informed Miranda of his intentions to follow in her footsteps, since his own path had led exactly _no_ and _where_ , she’d merely given him one of her long, intent gazes. Her eyes, as sandy-pale as her hair and five shades lighter than her suntanned and windburned skin, had simply rested on him for several eternal moments before she’d nodded, then proceeded to help him chase _her_ dream to the best of _his_ ability.

 

Bodhi had never regretted it. Not exactly. If he couldn’t have the career he’d always dreamed of—his bedroom in Santa Fe was a pit-trap of model airplanes and maps and, incongruously, rockets—then he could at least have a career that was somewhat _adjacent_ to his dream. Creating SatNav for planes and choppers was rewarding and fulfilling work, or so Miranda had always said. Bodhi had never doubted her word. Even now, he had no doubts that for her, SatNav was a holy grail of careers.

 

And Bodhi might’ve been happy to spend his life chasing radar blips and coding errors, as well, if he hadn’t met Galen, and started to . . . to _dream_ , again. Because, if a man like Bodhi—indeed, nothing special in the looks, brains, or personality department—could somehow catch and seemingly _keep_ the interest of a man like _Galen Erso_ . . . then, might not _other_ impossible things be possible, after all?

 

Bodhi had thought they might.

 

He’d let himself dream, again, and _imagine_ things best left to others with the guts and gumption—and adaptive, non-wonky eyesight—to chase them . . . with the looks and brains and personality to _truly_ captivate and keep the hearts of the most brilliant and amazing people.

 

But Krennic had dashed those dreams on the rocks of reality, like a gull with a stubborn clam. Just as a dash of cold water would awaken even the deepest sleeper, the professor had dispelled any illusions Bodhi had had that he could be anything other than what he was: a lonely, unremarkable, mediocre engineering student, who was destined to, at best, be a lonely, unremarkable, mediocre engineer.

 

Of course, thanks to Bodhi losing his temper so spectacularly—he’d never punched anyone in his life before Krennic . . . not even once—and in a way which, not a week ago, would have horrified him to the point of nausea, he wouldn’t even be _that_. Not with Krennic probably getting him blacklisted. Which the mercurial professor _wouldn’t_ hesitate to do, even if only to spite Galen. But now that Krennic had a very _personal_ reason to actually hate Bodhi, himself, well. . . .

 

Bodhi supposed he’d be lucky if he managed to avoid assault and battery charges. And if he somehow _did_ , the best thing for everyone involved would be if he packed his shit up and moved back to Santa Fe to figure out how to rebuild his shattered life. Regroup, decide out how to proceed, then move-on with the rest of his life . . . whatever shape it took.

 

Laughing again, into his tears-damp palms, Bodhi groaned as the glass door leading back into the apartment slid slowly open. A few moments later, large, warm hands settled on his shoulders and a soft, sad sigh sounded just above his head. Bodhi tilted his head up toward Han, but didn’t open his eyes. “Hey, Han. What even _is_ my _life_ , anymore, huh? What have I _done_? What’s _wrong_ with me?”

 

“Not a damn thing, as far as I can see, Magpie.”

 

Bodhi instantly froze at that tender, familiar, definitely-not-Han voice.

 

“Whah . . . what’re you doing here?” he asked shakily, through numb lips, squinching his eyes shut even tighter, for fear that if he opened them, the tender voice and warm hands would disappear, and he’d be all alone once again.

 

Because even now, dreams dashed and hopes murdered, Bodhi Rook was still very much a dreamer and a hopeful fool.

 

The hands on Bodhi’s shoulders began a gentle, but brisk massage—one that heralded the release of stored tension Bodhi hadn’t even noticed was making his head, neck, and shoulders ache steadily and increasingly.

 

“I’m here because _you’re_ here, _min elskov_. I’m here for you. For _us_.”

 

Bodhi made a soft noise that was practically a whimper. “There—there _is_ no _us_ , Galen. Stop lying to us _both_.”

 

“The only thing there _is_ is _us_ , Magpie,” Galen murmured, kneeling behind the chair with a soft grunt and leaning in until Bodhi could smell his aftershave and the faint-light-clean scent of his sweat. “The only thing I’m sure of in this life, anymore, is my love for my daughter, and my love for _you_.”

 

Bodhi shuddered, every atom of him shivering and quaking. “That’s . . . you’re _wrong_. You _don’t_ love _me_. You love Jyn’s mother.”

 

“Hmm, you’re only _half_ -right, pretty bird,” Galen corrected him sadly. “I _do_ love Jyn’s mother. And I will till the day I die. She was the great love of my life.”

 

Which Bodhi _already_ knew, but which made part of _him_ die, like Lyra Erso had.

 

“And yet,” Galen went on, the cool melancholic notes lifting out of his voice, to be replaced with warmer, brighter tones, “I find that there’s room in my heart and my life for _another_ great love. One that’s as magnificent and meaningful as my _first_ love, but also different enough— _far_ different—that there’s no confusing them. No comparing them or contrasting them. Lyra _was_ the great love of my life, Bodhi Rook. But _you_ . . . you _are_ the great love of my life. And you need to trust that I can, even in my admittedly infatuated state, tell the difference between my _past_ and _our_ future.”

 

Drawing in a breath that also shook and quaked—fairly shuddered with a wanting so great and a hope so poignant and agonizing—Bodhi squinted his eyes open and found himself looking up into twin seas of sparkling hazel-gray, fairly _radiating_ affection and concern and the same yearning Bodhi knew must be in his own dark eyes.

 

As usual, lately, those eyes began to water somewhat alarmingly, blurring his vision and making his sore lids sorer. He swiped at his cheeks with hands that tremored.

 

“Galen . . . you’re . . . the most wonderful, amazing, _perfect_ man I’ve ever met. And for a little while, I thought that _maybe_ . . . even though I didn’t _deserve_ you, I could still _have_ you, y’know? Be _yours_ , for at least a little while. And I _was_. A littler while than what I’d hoped for, but . . . well, anyway. That’s neither here, nor there. So’s the fact that I love you so much I _ache_ with needing to express it _constantly,_ and show you in every way available to me that I worship the ground you walk on . . . or hover three inches above, as the case may be.

 

Galen’s smile was sardonic and amused in a way that was already so familiar and beloved, it took Bodhi’s breath clean-away. Made it tough for him to continue thinking, let alone follow his thoughts to their logical conclusion.

 

 _Let alone_ saying it aloud when all he _wanted_ to say was: _Galen Erso . . . I_ love _you and_ will _love you until time and times are_ done. _I will take_ any _crumbs of affection you’re willing to give, and take them_ happily _, with no complaint. Only . . . don’t leave me. Don’t let me go. . . ._

However, saying such a thing, no matter how true, would be unfair to Galen who, in his kindness, might just _not_ leave. Might _not_ let Bodhi go, at the cost of his own happiness.

 

And that . . . _that_ was something Bodhi would _not_ tolerate. Even if the happiness it cost was his own.

 

“I love you, Galen, but you don’t . . . listen, you _can’t_ love me. At least not like I love _you_. You’re . . . practically a _god_ , as far as I’m concerned. The most awesome person _ever_. I love you because there’s simply no one better than you, to my way of thinking. You’re the _best_. And I’m sure that Jyn’s mom . . . Lyra . . . was as wonderful as _Jyn_ is. That she . . . that she really _deserved_ a guy like you, and deserved to be _happy_. But _me_ . . . I’m just . . . just _Bodhi_. I’m not special or good or deserving. I’m ordinary. Bland. Mediocre. Bordering on pathetic. Especially now.” Shaking his head, Bodhi closed his eyes again, in an attempt to block out not the light of the westering sun, but the bright shine of Galen’s lucent eyes. “I’m not the kinda person who’s _anyone’s_ great love. Not even their _runner-up_ love. Not _even_ their settling-for-the-consolation-prize love. _I’m_ the guy people maybe get fond of, or used to having around for comic relief. But Galen—” opening his eyes again to see Galen’s even wider and closer, Bodhi shook his head. “I’m _not_ the romantic lead. Even in the story of my own life, I’m still just the jackass who says the funny line, takes a pie to the face, then duck-walks off the stage so the _real_ magic can happen. I know you _want_ me to be this amazing love, like Lyra is— _was_ — _is_ —but I’m _not_. I’m just . . . I’m _not_ a great love. I don’t _inspire_ that in others.”

 

Galen was frowning down at him, now, his eyes still bright— _too bright_ —and solemn. When he blinked, a tear rolled from his right eye, followed by one from his left. In moments, they had dripped on Bodhi’s forehead and he instantly felt guilty. Not just for disabusing Galen of whatever sweet and romantic notions he’d been harboring, but for himself _not living up to_ those notions. For, once again, just _not_ being enough for someone. Not enough for the childless people who came to the state home looking for children to take in—except for one lonely, tender-hearted engineer—not enough for the Air Force . . . and not enough for the man who would be the love of _all_ his lives, forever after.

 

No, _never_ enough for that lovely man who deserved another chance at a great and consuming love and passion . . . but’d had the misfortune to stumble upon Bodhi and mistake a few not-so-unlovable qualities in a so-so person, for someone who was actually _worth_ loving and keeping.

 

“I’m sorry,” Bodhi said softly, his voice fogged and clogged with tears. He began to fiddle with and twist off the Futhark-ring on his finger. “I’m . . . _sorry_. Do you . . . do you want your ring back?”

 

Galen’s brow furrowed, his mouth twisted bitterly, and a few more tears dropped onto Bodhi’s forehead.

 

“No, I don’t,” he said almost stiffly. Then he was frowning and shaking his head. “What I _want_ , Bodhi Rook, is _you_. _Only_ you. _Ever-after_ you. I want to hold you and kiss you and make love to you and eat breakfast with you and watch horrible television with you and hold hands with you and walk in parks with you and _grow old_ with you and—at the end of a very long and contented life—quietly slip away in your arms, never knowing that I wouldn’t be having toast and coffee with you in the morning, like always. I want . . . _Lort_ , Bodhi, I want to spend _the rest of my life_ disproving this awful notion that you’re somehow _not_ worth the love you not only deserve, but have a goddamned _right_ _to_. I want to show you and show you until this doubt you have that I do, in fact, love you more than I ever thought I’d be able to love anyone after Lyra died, fades like mist in the sun. I want you to _wear_ _that ring_ and _think_ of me, Bodhi. Because _I_ think of _thee_. I want you to wear that ring and _love_ me, Bodhi. Because _I_ love _thee_. And always will.”

 

“You—” Bodhi laughed ruefully. “You’re so incredibly good at saying _everything_ I wanna hear, and then some. So good at making me wanna _believe_. . . .”

 

More tears dripped on Bodhi’s face, followed by Galen’s lips, gentle and wet, pressing a reverent, lingering kiss between his furrowed brows. “Then stop fighting what we _both_ want, love. Stop fighting _your_ heart _and_ mine to remain miserable and alone!”

 

Still laughing ruefully, Bodhi shook his head and slouched down in the lounge chair with a weary sigh, until the sweet pressure of Galen’s lips was gone . . . but not the temptation to give-in to the things they asked of Bodhi. “You think I _like_ being worthless and undeserving of the happiness I see all around me? You think that I wake up every morning and the first thing I think is: _Golly, how can I douse myself in my own fucking despair, today_?”

 

Opening his own aching eyes, Bodhi searched the ones directly above him. They’d moved closer, once again, despite Bodhi’s slouching. Galen’s chin rested on the back of the lounge chair and he was staring at Bodhi intently, and somehow . . . adoringly.

 

That look hurt Bodhi’s heart. He instantly wished he’d never seen it.

 

But a traitorous part of him was overjoyed that he _had_ seen it. That he’d gotten to see that look _once_ in his silly, pointless life, even if it wasn’t _really_ aimed at _him_ , but at Galen’s _misperception_ of him.

 

“I think,” Galen was saying, slowly and with careful reluctance, “that you _don’t_ have a very high opinion of yourself. For reasons I can guess at and others that . . . maybe even _you_ , yourself, couldn’t guess at. And that causes me more pain than anyone, I’m certain, save you. I think you’re afraid to want the life we both know we could have together, for fear that one day, I might wake up and see you, and _not_ see the man whom I love more than life, itself, but some stranger. One who is entirely lacking in worth and undeserving of my love, or anyone else’s. _I_ think that _you_ think I’m laboring under a grand delusion that you’re perfect and that that delusion is what I’ve become enamored of.”

 

Bodhi could only gape. He tried to make words come out—denials, temporizations, distractions—any words to deflect from the truth Galen was so easily reading in him.

 

But there _were_ no words. No denials, no temporizations, no distractions. There was only a soft, shamed moan that precursored Bodhi attempting to turn his face away from Galen’s. But Galen’s hands cupped his face and held it in place. Held it _still_.

 

“I know, my Magpie, that you’re _not_ perfect,” Galen said, smiling fondly, wryly. “I have _not_ swallowed the Kool-Aid. Somehow, your subtle charade and cunning ruse have failed to sucker me in. No,” he murmured, shaking his head once. “It was all _you_ —pure and unadulterated—who did that, without subterfuge or artifice. Without lies or guile. You are _not_ the most perfect person in the world. Merely the most perfect person in the world _for me_ , and that’s _exactly_ as I would _have_ it be. I _don’t_ want a god come to Earth. I want _you_. Silly, sweet, funny, lovely, mouthy, grouchy, sarcastic, bitchy, bossy, _brilliant_ , beautiful _you_.”

 

By now, Galen was grinning, big and bright and irresistible. So, when he slowly leaned down to kiss Bodhi’s lips— _upside-down_ , just like in Spider-Man, _holy crap!_ —Bodhi _didn’t_ resist. In fact, with a demanding little gasp and groan, he surged up into the kiss with every molecule of desire and pent-up need in his being.

 

 _One last kiss,_ he told himself as he stole Galen’s breath, only to replace it with his own, hot and humid and urgent. _Just one last kiss to remember him by . . . to imprint him on my brain and in my heart forever, so that even at my lowest moment I can say “I was loved, once.” Just one perfect minute of bliss and I’ll put a stake in the heart of this stupid little fling for keeps._

 

But that minute passed—along with at least five of its brothers—and still, Bodhi kissed Galen, hard and needy, as if trying to crawl his way into Galen’s soul through that kiss. As if trying to, in the span of that kiss, pour out all that was in his own soul.

 

One of Galen’s hands still cupped Bodhi’s face so, so gently and tenderly, warm and strong under Bodhi’s own hand, which held it desperately to his cheek. Galen’s other hand slid down Bodhi’s throat, over his collar bone, then down into the collar of his shirt. Bodhi gasped again, into the kiss, when Galen ran a callused fingertip across his right nipple, before tweaking it lightly.

 

Making another sound—really a push of surprised air, somewhere between another gasp and a breathless grunt—Bodhi found himself panting on Galen’s parted lips as the other man teased his nipple to aching hardness . . . then moved on to the left one.

 

“ _Galen_ ,” Bodhi whispered, and Galen’s mouth covered his again—captured and possessed it immediately, before Bodhi could finish a thought he hadn’t even fully had. And by the time they surfaced from _this_ kiss, Bodhi was bucking slowly, arrhythmically up into the large hand cupping his _very_ interested cock through his shorts.

 

“I . . . I can’t, Galen . . . I _can’t_ ,” he kept murmuring Even as he grew harder and more erect. More desperate for Galen’s every touch. “ _Please_. . . .”

 

“You _can_ , lovely bird,” Galen murmured, sipping teasing kisses like fine champagne and stroking Bodhi with light, but possessive caresses. “You can. All I ask is that you take a chance that someone—that _I_ —might actually _see_ you exactly as you are, and love you not _in spite_ of what I see, but _because_ of it. All I ask is that you meet me halfway.”

 

“ _Can’t_ —”

 

“You can. You _will_.”

 

“I— _oh!_ Oh, _Galen_!” Bodhi exclaimed, far too loud, as Galen’s thumb glanced across the cloth-covered, but still sensitive tip of his cock. More tears leaked from Bodhi’s shut-tight eyes and a thin sheen of sweat covered every inch of him. “Please . . . why’re you _doing_ this to me. . . ?”

 

“Because I love you, little bird.” Galen pressed an almost chaste kiss to Bodhi’s chin, then his lower lip. “Because you’re _mine_ , as much as I’m _yours_ , and because _I love you_.”

 

“But—I have to—” _I have to let you go. . . ._

 

“Be with me, Bodhi,” Galen whispered, his own voice shaking and hopeful. “All you have to do is _be with me,_ and I’ll do the rest.”

 

“But . . . what if you stop loving me?” Bodhi opened tear-wet eyes after carefully prying apart his soaked lashes. Galen’s eyes were right above his own, so wide and piercing and earnest. It made Bodhi’s small, timid voice even more so. “What if you realize I’m not . . . not _good enough_? Not worth it? Not . . . whatever it is you think you love about me?”

 

Nuzzling Bodhi’s nose with his own, Galen sighed. “What I love about you, Bodhi, is _you_. Nothing more, nothing less. I love the _you-ness_ of you. That’s something that you can neither hide nor help nor except. And as time goes on, you will only become _more you_ , which means you will become, in essence _more_ the man that I love so much already.”

 

“But what if . . . what if that _more_ -me—my _me-ness_ —is horrible and ugly and boring and not interesting and—”

 

“Even if you have facets that kick puppies and enjoy anchovies, I’ll love _them_ , too. I already _do_. I couldn’t stop loving them and you even if I wanted to. Even if I _tried_. And I must admit—” Galen chuckled with more than a bit of chagrin “—though I denied myself in the beginning, I _never_ tried _not loving_ you. It never occurred to me that such a thing was even possible. I was simply saying _no_ out of habit and fear, not lack of affection and adoration. My resistance to what we feel was a reflection of my own fears, not an indictment of who _you are_.”

 

Bodhi blinked and sighed, his hips and pelvis settling into the chair again, despite the tease and taunt of Galen’s precise fingers. Staring up into those hazel-grey eyes that meant nothing less than _everything_ to him, Bodhi opened his mouth for one more objection. “But,” he said in his tiniest whimper. And Galen’s eyes closed, in weary dismay.

 

“But?” he prodded, sounding as if, though unwilling to give up, he was very disheartened, to say the least. He even removed his hand from Bodhi’s erection—with unhappy hesitance—settling it on Bodhi’s waist with a melancholy, frustrated sigh of his own.

 

So, when Bodhi reached up with his free hand and cupped Galen’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb, the older man’s eyes opened slowly in disbelief and surprise.

 

“But, baby, anchovies are _delicious_ ,” Bodhi said with deep sincerity. “Especially on an extra cheese pie with mushrooms and olives.”

 

Galen blinked, his brow furrowing. Then his eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline, and he began to grin, slow and amused. “Well, then, one thing’s certainly become clear: you don’t get to choose the toppings on pizza-night. Ever.”

 

Fighting a smirk, Bodhi pretended to pout. “The honeymoon’s over and it hasn’t even _begun_ ,” he complained on the back of a laugh, though a few tears still leaked out of his eyes. Galen kissed both laugh and tears from Bodhi, until the younger man was left sighing and running his hand through Galen’s hair.

 

“I don’t know how to not be afraid you’ll leave me, Professor. Or stop loving me,” he admitted, suddenly solemn and uncertain. For nearly a minute after this pronouncement, he chewed his bottom lip nervously. Then, gathering his courage, he went on. “I don’t know how to believe that you _see_ who I am and _still_ want to be with me. I don’t . . . I don’t know how to trust that the person I love most _won’t_ once again be taken away from me by forces I can’t control. I don’t know how to stop expecting to lose you at every moment of every day because that’s just the hand life _keeps dealing me_. I love you more than _anything_ and my fear of losing you is, because of that, almost larger than the love, itself. I don’t know how to make my fear _small_ , Galen. It’s always been so _big_ , but now . . . it’s _colossal_. There’s just so far to fall, and . . . so much to _lose_. . . .

 

“Will you . . . will you _help_ me? Will you _show_ me how to not be so afraid?”

 

Galen’s smile was small, but tender. “Of course, I will, my Magpie. I will teach you by always being there for you, no matter what. By being faithful and loving and trustworthy. By showing you that nothing short of another forty-seven years on this planet or an extinction-level event will take me from you. But _you_ must give _me_ one thing, too, in order for me to show you what you need to learn.”

 

Bodhi swallowed around more tears, but didn’t look away from Galen’s eyes. “And what’s that?”

 

“ _Time_ ,” Galen answered gently. “Give me the gift of time. With you. The gift of experience. Of closeness. Of familiarity. Of patience. Give me _time_ , my angel, and I will give you everything you’re afraid to want. I will give you everything you ask of me.”

 

Bodhi searched Galen’s eyes for a few moments before nodding and accepting the sweet, brief kiss Galen dropped on his lips, and the arms that wrapped around his shoulders so fierce and protective. “Can I get an advance on some of that everything, then?”

 

Galen smiled on his mouth, turning it into another kiss: still as sweet, but markedly less brief. “Of course, my darling. _Anything_.”

 

Adam’s-apple bobbing anxiously, Bodhi smiled, too, closing his eyes with a mostly-contented sigh. “Tell me about Jyn’s mother?” he asked meekly, but with genuine curiosity. “Tell me about . . . Lyra.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you feel it? That scary and awesome feeling when there's only one chapter left to go? And you hope like hell the writer doesn't fuck it up, six days to Sunday?
> 
> Yeah, you feel it :-)
> 
> HMU on [The Tumbles](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


	16. Epilogue: Quest for a Mouthful of Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodhi Rook’s roommates and best friends, Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, are inseparable and intense. As well as engaged, and about to be married in less than a month. Bodhi has never felt a _fraction_ of that kind of attraction or attachment to anyone, and is entirely sure he doesn’t _want to_. Enter Jyn’s widower father, Galen Erso, just in time for the elopement, and best-man Bodhi’s world is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, college setting. Chapter title from a quote by Deejay Kapil.

**Come fly with me, come fly, let’s fly away. . . .**

**— Frank Sinatra**

“Bodhi?”

 

Grumbling, Bodhi rolled away from the beloved, yet _annoying_ voice coming from Galen’s side of their bed.

 

“Sweetheart. . . .”

 

“ _Nnngahh_ ,” was Bodhi’s layered and complex reply as he buried his head under his pillow and tried to sink back into his brief and hard-won sleep. But the other side of the bed dipped and a warm hand landed gently on Bodhi’s bare shoulder, squeezing lightly.

 

“Wake up, my pretty Magpie . . . don’t want to be late for your first day of school, now, do you?”

 

“‘S’at a trick question?” Bodhi mumbled, half-snorting, half-groaning as that warm hand turned into teasing fingers brushing lightly down his spine. A deep and very interested shiver worked its way throughout his body and he groaned again. “ _Galen_ . . . who’s side’re you _on_ , anyway?”

 

“Hmm,” Galen chuckled, pressing a fond kiss to Bodhi’s neck—well, the little of it he could get to with the pillow in the way. “ _Your_ side, of course. _Always_ your side. For better or worse, remember?”

 

More awake than asleep, now, Bodhi, smiling, sighed. He even let Galen remove the big, floofy pillow keeping out the watery-iffy grey light of an overcast Olympia morning. Scrinching his face up in half-hearted protest, Bodhi opened his eyes just enough to see Galen’s figure leaning over him, smiling his bright, morning-person smile. “Ugh. Why’re you so smile-y at ungodly o’clock in the morning?”

 

“First, it’s actually _half-past_ ungodly o’clock. Second . . . I’m _always_ smile-y when I wake up next to _you_ ,” was Galen’s sedately chipper reply. Bodhi’s grumpy-face slowly slipped into a helpless, smitten half-smile as he yawned: a big, loud jaw-cracker.

 

“Why, you silver-tongued _devil_ —yeesh, watch out, I’ve got morning-breath, like, _wuh-hoa_ ,” Bodhi cautioned as Galen leaned down to kiss him, deep and thorough, despite the warning.

 

It wasn’t long before Galen—who'd been wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt gifted to him by Bodhi, as well as blue pajama bottoms—had settled on top of Bodhi, in his arms, one hand bearing up some of his weight, the other pushing Bodhi’s left leg out to the side while simultaneously sliding up Bodhi’s inner thigh. The Iron Maiden shirt had already been thrown off and tossed at their dresser, the pajama bottoms shoved down and kicked off.

 

“Mmm, you’re still slick from last night,” Galen noted when Bodhi made a low, wanton moan in response to the first two of Galen’s questing fingers pushing slowly, but steadily into his body. He automatically clenched tight and clamped down hard on those fingers when Galen found his spot with the ease of almost two years of diligent practice.

 

“Yeah,” Bodhi gasped, laughing, eyes squinched shut again as he arched up into Galen’s body with another yearning moan. “You used up, like, a third of a tube of lube. And you _came_ for, like, _ever_. And then you _kept on fucking me_ till you came a second time.” Bodhi hummed happily . . . dreamily. “Not that I’m _complaining_ , mind . . . after ninety-three hours and approximately twenty minutes of not seeing you _or_ touching you, that was _the best_ way to be woken up from a restless, lonely sleep.”

 

Galen’s fingers worked their way out of Bodhi slowly, only to thrust back in fast and hard. “And coming home to my sleepy, but delightfully ready magpie was the best welcome home I’ve ever received. And it was all I could think about during that stultifying conference,” he replied, brushing a light, lingering kiss on Bodhi’s lips as he added his ring finger. Bodhi hissed at the burning stretch, then groaned as the pain became so wrapped up and twinned with pleasure, he couldn’t even begin to separate them.

 

“Too dry?” Galen asked, kissing his way to Bodhi’s right ear, where he nibbled the lobe with careful, then less-careful teeth. Bodhi grunted, leaning into the burn-stretch-tingle-GOD feeling, opening his eyes. The overcast light made their cream-white ceiling seem to almost glow silvery-white and their heather-grey walls, with their framed art, photos, and diplomas seem stark and subtly auraed. “Need more lube?”

 

“No, no . . . just need _you_ , Professor . . . need you _so bad_. . . .”

 

“Hmm . . . how bad is _bad_?” Galen teased, applying direct pressure to Bodhi’s prostate with small thrusts that he alternated with slow scissoring motions. Bodhi, who’d woken up hard, anyway, was already on the verge of coming from even this brief stimulation. Four days of no Galen—hence no sex . . . not even masturbation—and Bodhi suspected he’d be ready to come at the drop of a hat for the next week, at least.

 

Well . . . if, along with the dropping of said hat, he had Galen’s _permission_.

 

“Answer me, pretty bird,” Galen rumbled almost solemnly. “How bad is _bad_?”

 

“Whaa— _oh, Galen!_ ” Bodhi wailed as those three thick fingers pulled out and drove back in hard, nailing Bodhi’s prostate like the hand they were attached to was a battering ram.

 

By contrast, the soon-to-be livid hickey Galen bit into the flesh below Bodhi’s ear was gentle and tender.

 

“Does _bad_ mean you _don’t_ want to wait for me to get the lube . . . then prepare you nice and slowly and carefully so I don’t harm you—or tear you—while fucking your tight, perfect ass? Does that mean you _don’t_ want me to ease my way in so slowly it feels like you’ll die of suspense—” Galen whispered, his breath humid and hot in Bodhi’s ear, once more “—before I can’t fit my cock in you any deeper?” Another chuckle, this one decidedly evil. “And I _will_ be going balls-deep, beloved.”

 

Bodhi made another desperate sound, somewhere between a moan and whimper—a sound only Galen had ever been (and would ever be) able to wring from his body—really bearing down on Galen’s fingers.

 

“P-Please. . . .” Bodhi begged, tears leaking from his eyes as Galen’s methodical thrusts slowed to torturous fingering. “Galen, baby, _please_. . . .”

 

“Sweet, pretty bird . . . so innocent even now,” Galen murmured wistfully. “No matter how many times I take you—no matter how deep I go, how close to the core of you I get, that innocence and purity never changes . . . never dims . . . never shines less. Only _more_. . . .”

 

“Because . . . _because_ —” Bodhi gasped out, then groaned again. By the time he managed to force his wet eyes open, it was to see Galen leaning over him, his face both solemn and curious. Within Bodhi’s quivering, hungry body, those precise, perfect fingers had utterly stilled.

 

“Because, _what_ , Magpie?”

 

Bodhi blinked, momentarily at a loss. Then he remembered what he’d been trying to say all of thirty seconds ago, and smiled.

 

“Because I _love_ you,” he panted out, freeing the fingers of his right hand from the rumpled, bunched sheets of their bed. He reached up and cupped Galen’s face in his palm and Galen leaned into the touch, his pale eyelids closing on eyes that brimmed not with tears, but with emotion. “If I shine . . . it’s because that’s my love for you that you’re seeing. Because that’s the only thing in this universe that will only grow brighter with time—fuck theories of entropy and dissipation. What I feel for you will always burn bigger and brighter with time. It will never dim, never fade . . . and never, ever go out.”

 

It was most of a minute before Galen opened his eyes again, hazel-gray locking instantly on Bodhi’s dark-brown.

 

“I _love_ you, Mr. Erso,” he said in a voice thick with urgent intensity. Bodhi’s smile widened.

 

“And I love _you_ , Mr Erso.”

 

Then Bodhi was pulling Galen down on top of him once more, back into his waiting arms. Then, not long after that, welcoming his husband into his body, the way he, himself, had been welcomed into Galen’s home and life. And the way they’d each welcomed the other into their hearts.

 

#

 

“So,” Bodhi said, squinting through his shades and the windshield of Galen’s mist-grey, Volvo XC90 T8, at the smallish hangar in the distance. It looked fairly innocuous, glinting mellowly in the still-overcast daylight, but then, looks could be deceiving.

 

“Yes, they can, but in this case, I assure you they’re not,” Galen said mildly, and Bodhi started, glancing at his amused husband with something like horror.

 

“Fuck, did I say that out loud?”

 

“No. I can just read your mind,” Galen replied, his lips twitching into a small, smug smile. Bodhi rolled his eyes and slouched down in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest and the seatbelt.

 

“Yeah? Then what’m I thinking right now, Professor?”

 

“That I’m full of shit,” was the equally mild reply.

 

“Wow! You really _are_ a mind-reader!” Bodhi exclaimed with manic sarcasm, one hand settling on his churning stomach. It felt like there were kaleidoscopes of butterflies in there. Or a flock of rooks.

 

Galen chuckled and, after unbuckling his seatbelt, leaned over to kiss Bodhi’s cheek. “You’ll do fine, my Magpie.”

 

“You don’t _know_ that. _I_ don’t know that. It’s gonna be my first time putting theory into practice—my first time going _up_! What if I _suck_ at it? What if I _crash_ us? What if—”

 

“You won’t.”

 

“But—”

 

“You. _Won’t_.”

 

“But if—”

 

“If, but,” Galen parroted dismissively, then smirked. “If _ifs_ and _buts_ were candy and nuts, then every day would be Christmas.”

 

Bodhi blinked. Opened his mouth to respond . . . had _nothing_ . . . then blinked again. “Is that an old Danish proverb?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

Bodhi snorted. “Yeah, well . . . just _supposing_ . . . my beginner’s luck sucks, as per usual? Suppose I miscalculate, or push a button I shouldn’t, or have a seizure—”

 

“Have you _ever_ had a seizure?” Galen asked doubtfully. Bodhi blushed and stammered.

 

“Weeeell. N-no. _But_ that just means I’m overdue for one, as far as I’m concerned,” he huffed. “And anyway, what if I get up there and suddenly—BAM! It’s my time to go to that great MTV Unplugged concert in the sky?”

 

“You make a good point,” Galen allowed with admirable calm. “And it could be worse: what if you get up there and suddenly it’s your _instructor’s_ time to go to that great MTV Unplugged concert in the sky?”

 

Again, Bodhi was left gaping and speechless. Finally, he shut his mouth and scowled at the distant hangar, brushing a trailer of dark hair behind his ear. “You just _refuse_ to let me have my angst, don’t you?”

 

“Utterly and completely.”

 

Scowling even harder, this time at his smiling husband, Bodhi stuck out his tongue. “See if I make your favorite dinner again any time soon.”

 

Galen made a playfully pouty face, placing one large, warm hand on Bodhi’s knobby left knee. “Come now, Magpie, don’t be like _that_. You know I only married you for your prowess in the kitchen.”

 

“I’ll remember you said that later tonight, when I’m trying to fall to sleep and your damn won’t-play-dead-dick starts poking me in the ass.”

 

Now, _Galen_ snorted. “But I thought _this morning_ was your time to go to that great concert in the sky?” Blinking innocently, he sighed. “I was going to have my sexy, young lover come over tonight with pizza and craft beer, after I identified the remains.”

 

“ _What_? Your—I somehow doubt he’s sexier and younger than _me_ ,” Bodhi scoffed haughtily, and Galen laughed.

 

“Oh, but he _is_. By far. In fact, the only reason I encouraged and supported you taking flying lessons was so that you’d _finally_ be out of my and Raoul’s way.”

 

“ _Raoul_?” Bodhi asked incredulously, then started sputtering. “You’re—you’re fucking around on me with some asshole named fucking _Raoul_?”

 

“Mm.”

 

Now, _Bodhi_ was the one to pout. “I’m . . . _so_ disappointed that that’s how you’re honoring my boss-ass memory. With some douche named _Raoul_ , of all things. You should be ashamed.”

 

“Well, unfortunately, I’m not. And it’s not his _name_ that I’m interested in, to be honest. . . .”

 

Bodhi rolled his eyes at Galen’s campy, cheesy leer. “Lame, Erso. _Super_ -lame.”

 

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to come back to me safely and keep me out of Raoul’s clutches,” Galen said blithely, shrugging. “I think he only wants me for my money, anyway.”

 

Bodhi repressed a smirk unsuccessfully. “That and your big dick.”

 

“Well, I was too modest to say, but. . . .”

 

Bodhi unbuckled _his_ seatbelt and leaned over to buss Galen’s lips, lingering while he murmured. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

 

“I’m just reminding you of what you already know: You’ve _got this_ , pretty bird. You’ve _always_ got it,” Galen promised, turning the buss into a heated kiss that left them both panting and laughing like teenagers. Galen’s hand was sliding purposefully from Bodhi’s knee up his thigh. And _Bodhi’s_ hand . . . was encouraging Galen’s, pushing it further up his khaki-clad leg.

 

“We probably shouldn’t be starting this now,” he said, nonetheless, when Galen’s hand cupped his groin lightly, smiling as he squeezed.

 

“We shouldn’t be _finishing_ it now. But it’s _always_ a good time to start,” his husband murmured, his eyes half-lidded and promising, even as he slowly moved his hand back down to Bodhi’s knee. “The _finishing_ can happen _after_ your maiden flight.”

 

“But,” Bodhi finally risked saying, his voice gone small and afraid as he was recalled to the moment. “What if I _hate it_? What if I get up there and find out I’m not cut-out to be a pilot, after all? What if I’m not. . . .” _good enough_?

 

“You _are_ , my love. You’re _more_ than _good enough_ ,” Galen swore, performing his mind-reading trick again, his smile turning tender and fond.

 

“I think you’re maybe a _little_ biased, Hub.” Bodhi laughed, but it was waterlogged and ill-at-ease. Galen sat back to look Bodhi in the eyes and reached up to brush loving, reverent fingers along his cheek.

 

“Who was it who somehow, despite the spiteful machinations of his former mentor, managed to not only get his B.S. in engineering, but graduate in the ninety-fifth percentile of his year? Who was it who finished what he started and became an engineer and is even now, working towards his M.S.? Who is it who’s still making the time to chase his dream of being a pilot, despite the odds stacked so high against him?” Galen asked sedately and Bodhi mumbled and blushed, looking down at his hands in his lap. “And who was it who not only figured out what kind of eye-protection he needed to keep the sun from damaging and compromising his retinas while up in the air, but _rigged his own_ eye-wear—and patented it—using nothing more than his skill at engineering and design, and the input of his optometrist?” Those elegant eyebrows shot up. “And finally, _who_ managed to get the state licensing bureau to sign off on said goggles as being legal for both recreational and commercial flying? Who was it who, _on his own_ , researched and found the best flight school in Olympia? Who got through the pre-licensing and pre-flight requirements without help—knocked down _every_ roadblock—just on the strength of his own will and desire to be in the air? Who _was_ that man, hmm? And who’s about to _live_ the dream he’s had since he was a small child? The dream of _flight_? It sure as hell isn’t _Raoul_.”

 

Blushing, Bodhi didn’t look up, but couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips. Couldn’t help leaning into Galen’s touch, as always. “Well,” he temporized, then sighed, finally daring a glance up at his husband’s face. “But Jyn helped with keeping Krennic from failing me, preventing me from graduating, or blacklisting me. She put the fear of _lawsuit_ in that dick-tip.”

 

“She takes after her mother in that she can, if one gets on her bad side, be the scariest attack-dog on Earth,” Galen agreed with a grimace that turned into a wry smile. “Anyway, enough chit-chat, Mr. Erso, your first flying lesson approaches. We have—seven minutes to get you to the hangar and squared away with Instructor Hanley.”

 

Bodhi glanced at the Volvo’s touchscreen for a moment, too: 9:53 a.m., it read. He sighed, then squared his shoulders, checking to make sure that his special goggles—indeed, with prescription lenses that beggared the shades he wore for light-blocking and adjusting—were still on his head, held in place by a thick, but comfortable elastic strap. They were.

 

“Right. Okay, yeah,” he eventually said, after patting himself down like a man who was certain he’d find he’d forgotten something. But all the usual suspects of keys, wallet, phone, lip balm, and spearmint chewing gum were present and accounted for in his pockets. “Time to get this show on the road, right?”

 

“Indeed. You’re ready, then?” Galen asked, his voice soft and fond with pride and approval. He shifted into gear and slowly pulled off the shoulder, back onto the road and toward the airfield and small hangar. Bodhi snorted again, wry and self-mocking, but less nervous than he’d been even five minutes ago.

 

“Nope,” he replied brightly. “Not ready, at all. But I’m gonna do it, nonetheless. Because I may not _be ready_ , but I’m starting to _believe_ that I just might be willing and able, y’know?” He glanced over at Galen, whose attention was on him, despite his eyes being on the road. “I feel like it’s not a coincidence that since I met you, one by one, my dreams have all come true. With you beside me, encouraging me, egging me on, and teasing me with poorly-named, probably nonexistent lovers you’ve taken, I feel like I can do just about _anything_ if I’m willing to work and try and keep at it. So . . . yeah! Bring on the Cessna 172, I say! Bodhi Erso’s about to make the sky his _bitch_!”

 

Galen coughed around a laugh that clearly wanted to be a guffaw. “You’ve, ah . . . you’ve definitely got the right attitude, _min lille Magpie_. Up-up-and-away, and all that.”

 

“Of course, I do.” Bodhi grinned winningly, taking off his shades and pocketing them. He then pulled his special goggles down over his eyes, for once gazing into the bright distance without having to squint. Thus caparisoned, the world—though evening-dark, now—seemed sunnier than the sunniest Jedha day. And the hangar was no longer so distant, which caused the darting, wheeling rooks in Bodhi’s stomach to flutter and flap with nerves . . . and anticipation. “I _am_ the pilot, after all.”

 

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End?
> 
> Hardly. Just the end of this particular story. There's still a planned series, ahead. With plenty more Bodhi and Galen, Han and Luke, Leia and Mon, and Cassian and Jyn. With cameos by other people and pairings.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me through this sixteen-chapter craziness, and for the comments which I've been slow in replying to, but which I appreciate so hard. And will be answering over the next couple of days now that I have some time freed up :-)
> 
> So, thank you. Come hang with me on [Tumblr](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com). And feel free to prompt me with stuff you wanna see in future stories. Because as much as I like the external validation, I'm doing this for you. Making you all smile and laugh and fan yourselves at the steamy-bits is my raison d'etre. Thank you for allowing me to entertain you <3

**Author's Note:**

> So . . . my first _Rogue One_ fic. How was it? Characterization? Pace? Dialogue? Ham and cheese on soft rye?
> 
> And check out my Bodhi Rook and Galen Erso (either paired with each other, or with other characters) slash Tumblr for fic and art recs, and meta, [Slashing the Defectors](https://slashing-the-defectors.tumblr.com/), as well as my Discord group, [Slashing Rogue One](https://discord.gg/PYC5tbD)! Come join the madness!


End file.
